Reds, Greens & Holiday Blues
by MyklarCure
Summary: JLAin't #2! CH 9. Discussions
1. Third Saturdays

JLAin't #2: Reds, Greens and Holiday Blues  
Author: MyklarCure  
Chapter 1: Third Saturdays

A/N: This series is set in Chris Dee's Cat-Tails universe. Check out the first installment -- JLAin't: The Other Side (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=857361).   
Plus, if you haven't, check out the original Cat Tails series under Chris's FFN UserID (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=22266)

Thanks: Special thanks to Brii-anna, Ken and Chris for their input, advice and assistance. And thanks to all you reviewers! :D  
Disclaimer: Myklar own nothing. Myklar not care about puny human laws of ownership. Myklar Smash! 

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****

To: Speed_Demon@yahoo.com; ElecTrickEel@aol.com; MartyMann@jonesinvestigations.com; HamrTyme@steelworks.org  
**From**: GrnScribble@NYCnet.com  
**Subject**: That time...

TSC  
KP8P  
Prod the girl  
Ponch&John, idiot, and Albert  
Call BSA and Jacques  
... "The Babysitter is Dead"

Greenie

***

To the untrained eye, the e-mail meant nothing: a series of jumbled letters and unintelligible gibberish. To Wally West, however, it was the announcement he had been expecting.

"Hot damn!" he muttered, pulling out his palm pilot and going to the calendar. He smiled to himself as he quickly jotted in an appointment, then dropped the Palm back into his pocket.

"Prod the girl?!" Linda's voice said from behind him, causing him to bolt up, his hand going to the mouse and closing the e-mail. 

"It's nothing, honey. It was a clue from Kyle about a case the League is involved in..."

Linda eyed the back her fiancée's head questioningly, then shrugged and walked back out of the room. Unintelligible E-mails from Kyle Rayner were not a new occurrence in the West household. That boy had too much free time on his hands...

***

**__**

You've got mail!

"Ooo!" Eel bounced up out of his chair. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back..."

He hopped out of the bedroom and into the den of his apartment, bounding over to the computer desk. He clicked on his e-mail icon and brought up the new message. "Woo hoo!" he shouted, maybe a bit louder than he should.

"Hey mister, the clock is ticking!" came the reply from the bedroom. 

Eel smirked to himself, then closed the e-mail and headed back into the bedroom. "Don't worry ladies, I'll pay for the extra time, if need be." He returned to his overstuffed chair, his fingers steepled under his nose. "Please... continue."

The two ladies looked at each other then shrugged. EHD Escort Service specialized in providing clients they're "Every Heart's Desire" (or so the motto goes). Mr. O'Brien was one of their stranger... "clients," but he always paid on time and tipped generously. Considering his "special requests," a little extra cash always ensured the utmost discretion. Mandy adjusted the odd purple cat-eared mask on her face, then headed over to Candy, unzipping the back of her Eagle-embossed corset. Mr. O'Brien merely sat motionless in his chair, his eyes locked on the pair as a single word crept out of his mouth...

"Me-ow."

***

J'onn read the e-mail and smiled. It was about time. 

"Cute, Kyle. Real cute..." Discretion was not something that J'onn had to deal with too frequently when it came to e-mail transmissions... no wife, girlfriend, family or co-workers who had potential access to his e-mail. But he understood the need for the cryptic lines on the screen in front of him when he saw the other addresses. They each received similar e-mails every month, and although they looked nonsensical, they were, in fact, an invitation to a meeting of the biggest kept secret in the JLA's history.

"Third Saturdays"

It all started way back in the early days of the League. On the third Saturday of every month, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen and Barry Allen would put aside whatever else had been going on with the league or in their personal lives, meet together at someone's home or apartment, and play games, watch movies or just sit around and chat. Rumor has it that it all started with Hal making some off-hand comment after one of the League's meetings ("You know, we should all get together and trade stories sometime") which lead to a late-Friday-Night phone call from Oliver ("Hey, tomorrow night. My Place. Pizza, beer and poker. Bring the Scarlet Fascist. It'll be a hoot"). They decided after that first night to make it a regular occurrence. They soon discovered that, although it was merely a social occasion meant to be a night of relaxing fun in their normally hectic lives, the Third Saturdays were strengthening the bonds between the trio and making them far more effective "in the field." Fairly soon after that, they brought J'onn in to join them.

Somewhere along the way, Third Saturdays became an institution. Almost every incarnation of the League had some version of Third Saturdays, sometimes as successful as the original, sometimes to catastrophic ends. After the "Gardner/Palmer Incident," (which attracted not only the rest of the League's attention, but that of the national media as well) Third Saturdays were officially discontinued. 

After a year with this newest version of the League, J'onn decided it was time to resurrect the old custom. At first, it was just J'onn, Wally and Kyle. Eventually (per Kyle's request), they started extending invitations to several of the others in the League as well, including the reservists. What originally started with a late-night phone call, had now turned into a sort of "secret society" which was announced through monthly cryptic e-mails. 

Kyle was usually the most creative in his invitations... chalk it up to his being an artist. Some of Eel's invitations in the past had been downright ridiculous. Wally's were usually just two or three lines. But Kyle's, however cryptic, were always downright fun. 

J'onn read the e-mail again, mentally deciphering it as he read:

"TSC" - Third Saturdays Club

"KP8P" - Kyle's Place, 8PM

"Prod the girl" - Poker ("Poke-her")

"Ponch&John, Idiot and Albert" - Chips (ChiPs), Dip, and... 

J'onn paused. "Albert? Hmm... Albert... Ah, right! Beer!" he concluded, remembering Wally's comment at the last month's Saturday about his favorite college roommate being "Albert Cohall" (Alcohol). 

"Call BSA and Jacques" - Clark (BSA-Boy Scouts of America) & Arthur (Jacque Cousteau) 

"... 'The Babysitter is Dead'" - Keep it a secret ("Don't tell Mom"). J'onn didn't get that one on his own the first time -- having never heard of the movie -- but Kyle now used it in all of his invitations. 

"Greenie" - Kyle

J'onn chuckled again, shaking his head and marked his calendar. "Poker at Kyle's. Should prove to be an interesting night."

***

"John Henry?" Superman called out as he landed in the main design room of the Steel Works factory. 

"Over here, Superman." John Henry Irons (a.k.a. Steel) walked out from around a particularly large mechanical construct that, to Superman's eyes, look like a cross between a giant satellite dish and a military issue armored personnel vehicle. "Just finishing up my new mobile unit. Glad you could stop by." John Henry wiped his hands on a rag as he approached the Original Man of Steel, stopping by a computer station and picking up a piece of paper off of the printer. 

"What's thi..." Superman paused as his eyes crossed over the page that was just handed to him. A small smile crossed his lips, and he looked back up to John Henry. "Already?"

"Hey, time flies when you're savin' the world." Both men chuckled as John turned back toward the armored vehicle. "You know," he said over his shoulder, "you wouldn't have to make these trips if you'd just bite the speeding bullet and get an e-mail address."

"I have an e-mail address, John Henry. Actually, I have several. The problem is, they're actually 'Clark Kent's' e-mail addresses and, well... secret identity and all that..." 

"I hear ya, man. It's just one more reason why I've been thinking of establishing an e-mail system for the Watchtower. Give every Leaguer their own address for official use..."

"This," Clark indicated the printed e-mail by holding the piece of paper up, "isn't exactly 'Official Business'..."

"Good point," John Henry chuckled. "Still..."

"Yeah, might be worth looking into. With all the digitally-savvy foes we've faced off with recently, though, we may need to be careful."

John Henry turned around and stared at Clark, an almost disgusted look on his face. "You sayin' someone's gonna hack into _my_ system?" 

Clark grinned, then gave the one word explanation to end the argument before it started: "Prometheus."

"Psshh. Please. That was several years and multiple revisions ago. Hell, it was his 'break-in' that prompted the entire security overhaul in the first place. Between me and Oracle, we've got that place so secure, even a 24th century hacker would have a hard time getting in!" 

"OK, fine. We'll discuss it later. I've gotta get home before Lois notices I'm gone..."

"She doesn't even know you left?"

"No, she was in the shower..."

"Let me get this straight: your unbelievably gorgeous wife is at home and in the shower right now, and you're still here talkin' to me?! Damn, you got more self control than I thought..."

Superman's eyes widened for a second, then a mischievous grin crossed his face. "You've got a point there..." 

Faster than a speeding bullet, he was gone, leaving John Henry Irons standing alone in his shop. Laughing. 

***

That night, Arthur sat in the Monitor Womb, watching the flickering images with a bored detachment. He sat back in the chair, his eyes glazing over as he tried desperately to stay awake. He immediately popped up in the chair at the sound of approaching footsteps. 

"Hey Arthur." J'onn's tired voice filled the Womb. Arthur turned to regard his friend, his face dropping as he saw the haggard and worn look on J'onn's face. 

"You ok?"

"Fine. Just beat." J'onn managed a small smile. 

"Another marathon session with the Princess?" Arthur probed.

"Yeah."

J'onn had been spending quite a bit of time with Diana recently, slowly working her back into being able to handle the Lasso. Their sessions were mostly mental, Diana trying to come to grips with all that had happened. They usually left Diana asleep and J'onn mentally and emotionally drained, but it was a labor J'onn loved. Just knowing he was helping a friend and fellow teammate through a traumatic time was worth a little exhaustion. Speaking of which...

"How are you holding up, Arthur?"

"I'm good, J'onn. Busy, but good..."

"Oh, before I forget," J'onn interrupted, "This weekend."

"What about it?"

"It's Third Saturday time again..."

Arthur sighed. "Oh..."

"Oh, c'mon Arthur," J'onn perked up a bit. "I know every time I ask you, you say no, but please think about it this time. I mean, with all that's been going on -- between Diana and her Lasso, and Bruce and his damn Protocols -- it'll be good to have a good old-fashioned get together. Just hanging out with friends and compatriots..."

"I dunno, J'onn. I mean, I used to love it. Back in the old days when it was just you, me, Barry, Hal and Ollie, I had a great time. It was a great way to learn and try to understand human behavior. But now... now I'm not so sure I _want_ to understand it..."

"Well, look: It's this Saturday at Kyle's place in New York. If you feel like coming, by all means, come. We'd love to have you."

"I'll think about it," was the best answer J'onn was going to get. 

"Fair enough," J'onn accepted, surprised that he actually hadn't gotten a "no" this time. He figured he wouldn't press his luck and changed the subject. "So how's Duty going?"

"Duty is... Duty. Same as always, I sit here watching all of these ridiculous reports and waste another few hours of my time. Honestly, when you came in, I was just trying to keep myself awake..."

"No one's told you?" J'onn asked, moving a bit closer.

"Told me what?"

J'onn looked around conspiratorially, then spoke in a near whisper. "About Monitor 15?"

"Monitor 15?" Arthur asked, turning his attention to said monitor and seeing a couple of rather whale-ish sized surface dwellers in clothing that looked about three sizes too small standing in a large, official looking room and talking boisterously. "What about Monito..."

He stopped as J'onn reached up and grabbed the Monitor Room keyboard. After tapping the now-all-too-familiar sequence of keys, a scrolling menu of channels appeared on Monitor 15.

"Whoa! How'd you do that?!" Arthur perked up, his eyes scanning the channel listings.

"I'll show you," J'onn said with a grin. He walked Arthur through the key commands on how to enter the menu system and how to quickly back out to it's normal preset. "Now, you can get almost any satellite TV station in the world. Just scroll through the menu and find what you're looking for..."

"Of course, I don't really know the kinds of things they show anymore." Arthur admitted. "The last thing I remember seeing on one of these was some strange thing about a bunch of kids hanging out in an eatery of some kind. There was this tall red-headed kid, who appeared to be the star of the show and some strange, wet-haired guy in a shiny black coat who had some kind of magic power that let him turn electronic devices on with a snap of his fingers..."

J'onn chuckled, tabbing through the channel selection and landing on the "Nick at Nite" listings. He found what he was looking for in the British feed and selected the station. Immediately, the inside of Al's diner popped on the screen, just in time to see The Fonz waltz in, a lady on each arm, and salute the crowd with his customary "Heeeeeyyy!"

"That's IT!" Arthur pointed at the screen. "That's what I saw!"

"It's called Happy Days, Arthur. Classic TV show. You can watch this or..."

"Actually," Arthur interrupted, sounding a little dejected. "I think this is the one I saw. Like the very same show..."

J'onn chuckled again, switching back to the menu. He tabbed through again, reading the channel names as they flashed by. He paused, turned and looked at Arthur, then back to the screen. "Here you go. Try this one..." He clicked the channel selection and the screen flipped to a scene of what looked like swamp-land. Arthur furrowed his brow for a second, then noticed something moving in the water. 

"Wha..?" 

Suddenly, a slightly plump man with sandy blond hair wearing a khaki shirt and matching shorts peered in on the side of the screen. 

"Oi! Look at dat one! Ee's reaaaaly huge! Ee looks loike a meen one... Let's go 'ave a closa look." 

"What the fuck...?" Arthur muttered as he watched, transfixed on the screen. "Wait a sec..." he leaned in toward the screen as a large crocodile slithered out of the water. "Dolan?"

"Uh... no," J'onn answered. "I think his name is Steve..."

"No, not the Aussie twit. The Crocodile! It is! It's Dolan!!"

"Dolan?"

"Yeah, I know him! Great reptile! Funny as all get-out... Wait, what is that jackass doing?!" They watched the screen as Khaki-man approached the shoreline where the crocodile waited. 

"Look at those jauwws!" the Khaki-man said, inching closer to Dolan with a large stick in his hand. As if on cue, Dolan's mouth opened wide, waiting for his next victim. "One snappa dem jauwws and you can kiss a finga good-bye! Roight now, he's probably a liddle pissed cause Oi'm invadin' his terra-tree."

"Actually, you retard," Arthur said to the screen. "He's thinking about how delicious your ankle's gonna taste in about five minutes... well, that and he's hoping his teeth look pretty enough on camera..."

J'onn looked at Arthur incredulously. "You mean you can hear him?! He knows he's on camera?!?"

"Oh, hell yeah! He's hamming it up big time. Putting on a little show before he chomps this idiot's foot off!" Arthur cocked his head back and laughed, J'onn unable to resist in joining in his friend's merriment. 

Something had told him Arthur would love Animal Planet. As Arthur continued to talk to the screen, waiting for the host to loose his foot, J'onn stepped away, content in the fact that he just saved Arthur from another night of complete boredom in the Tower...

***

Bruce scanned the text on the monitor of the Batcomputer for the 6th time. And grunted, for the 6th time.

"So," he said to the bats hanging from the ceiling, "it's Third Saturday time again..."

The bats squeaked a reply that was either: 

"Yes, and they didn't invite you again!"  
or  
"Of course they didn't invite you, Wanna-be. They're still miffed about the Protocols bullshit. Not to mention the fact that you know about this because you're reading their e-mail! You keep shitting on them, no wonder they're pissed. In fact so are we! Here, how do you like it!"

A small splat next to Bruce's right foot signified the dropping response from his ceiling companions. He grunted again, staring at the small puddle of grayish-brown before returning his attention to the monitor. 

He smirked a bit, at least somewhat happy in the fact that his teammates in the League appeared to still be trying hard to work together. And come to think of it, why did he really care? He _never_ cared about how the League treated him in the past. He'd never been invited to Third Saturday in all the years he'd been a Leaguer and it never bothered him before. Hell, he'd relished in it, just knowing that he scared them enough for them not to want to have him at their little reindeer games...

So why did it seem to sting this time? 

He sighed (surprising the bats with his versatility of expression) and closed the e-mail window. Why now, after all this time, did he care about not being invited? 

Suddenly, he heard Catwoman's voice in his mind's ear. _"Because, you judgmental jackass, for the first time in your life, you're finally allowing yourself to feel. Even if that feeling is regret._

He smiled lightly. 

Selina. 

Selina - who had finally shown him what it means to be loved and accepted for who you are.  
Selina - who had opened his mind and his heart to the fact that there are things in this world beyond "the mission"  
Selina - who had shown him that there are other emotions in this world besides Hate, Anger and Rage.  
Selina - who was currently upstairs waiting for him to come up while he sat down here pondering the reasons why the people he's spent years trying to keep at a distance haven't included him in their lives. 

Selina - who was currently laying half naked in his bed waiting his return...

Batman paused for the briefest of moments, then with a speed that would make even Wally blink, he flung the cowl off his head and ran up the stairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Mama said

**Saturday, 6:10 AM**

Wally lay in bed asleep, his fiancée Linda in the bed beside him. Linda stirred, waking Wally into a half-conscious daze. He felt her rustling next to him, a warm tingle rushing up his spine. Through half-lidded eyes, he rolled over and stared at her laying so peacefully, the morning sunlight through the window cascading across her auburn hair. He smiled lightly, a sudden urge coming over him. He rolled over lightly, gently running his fingers through her hair. She moaned softly, her head moving slightly at Wally's touch. His other hand made it's way under the sheets...

A minute later, Wally was attempting to disprove the theory that he was the "Fastest Man Alive" in _every_ endeavor. As their bodies moved together, he caught a quick glimpse of green out of the corner of his eye, followed by a soft crunching noise. His head snapped around to the right, his eyes locking onto the form of J'onn, leaning back against the wall, a small bucket of popcorn in his hand. Unfazed, J'onn took a kernel of popcorn, held it up like he was about to eat it, then motioned with his fingers.

"Oh, don't mind me, Wal. Please," he continued "by all means, keep going."

Wally moved to... dismount his bride-to-be but suddenly her hands shot up and grabbed his hips, forcing him back down on top of her. A soft "Don't stop" escaped her lips, Wally's mind now racing. To his horror, the bedroom door opened and Kyle walked in, dressed in his full Green Lantern outfit, McDonald's soda cup in hand. Kyle waltzed over next to J'onn, taking a leaning position almost identical to the Martian. Kyle leaned over, as if whispering, but his voice rang out loud and clear. 

"He... he's doing it wrong..." 

"Shhh..." J'onn admonished, his eyes still locked on Linda and Wally. "That may be, Kylie, but it sure is fun to watch him try..."

Both green figures laughed lightly, sharing what appeared to be some kind of private joke. Wally was frantic, anger quickly rising in his mind. Just as he was about to scream for them to leave, the closet door opened. If Wally was upset when Kyle walked in, he was completely flabbergasted now. Batman strolled out of the closet, small video camera in hand, and slid sideways across the floor until he was standing to J'onn's side opposite Kyle, his camera trained on the couple the whole time. 

"How long have they been at it?" Batman queried, his eyes and camera still focussed on the bed.

"About 3 minutes," J'onn replied, popping another kernel in his mouth. 

"He's doing it wrong," Kyle chimed in for the second time. 

"I see that," was Batman's smirking reply. 

Wally was at the end of his wits. He started to jump out of the bed again, only to feel the vice-like grip of his fiancée's hands clamping down on his hips again. He turned to her, lying beneath him, eyes closed, lips slightly apart. She either didn't notice the trio of onlookers or didn't care. He clamped his own eyes shut, willing the hallucination to disappear. A few seconds of concentration focussed solely on the "task at hand" and Wally forgot about them... 

...at least until the snickering started. 

Wally opened his eyes again, staring intently at the trio. Obviously unconcerned by the eye-daggers flying in his direction, Batman turned to the other two. 

"You know, I think someone needs to teach this boy how to properly make love to a woman." Batman suddenly dropped the camera to his side, staring directly at Wally. "What'dya say, West? Willing to let a _real man_ show your woman what it's supposed to be like?" he smirked and took a step forward. Strangely, his foot fall didn't sound like boot hitting wood flooring, but instead it sounded like a electronic twittering. 

Unconcerned with details for the moment, Wally turned his growing frustration toward the Bat-shaped man stepping toward the bed. 

"You take one more step, Batty," Wally growled, "and I swear to God I will kill you where you stand."

Before Wally could actually contemplate the fact that he had just threatened one of the most dangerous men alive, Batman paused. Batman's smirk turned into a full fledged grin -- an almost homicidal grin, but a grin nonetheless -- and he lifted his foot, moving it out in a cartoonish motion and purposefully bringing it down in a defiant step. Again, the boot twittered electronically on the floor. 

Wally's brow furrowed as he attempted to wrap his brain around what he was seeing. And hearing. Batman's other foot raised up, now looking like Shaggy creeping away from the Haunted Pirates. Again, the boot twittered as it his the floor. 

Wally finally placed the twittering sound as he sat upright in bed, his eyes instinctively locking on the phone on the nightstand. He looked over to his right where Linda should have been and saw only empty bed. He looked to where the trio had been standing and saw only blank wall. Shaking the final images of the dream from his mind, he reached over and grabbed the phone.

"What?!" He half-screamed/half-growled.

"W-Wally?" came the timid, if not familiar voice. 

"Kyle?! What the fu--" Wally stopped suddenly, it occurring to him that yelling at Kyle for something that happened in his dream was pointless. He sighed lightly, running his hand down over his face and scratching his chin. "Sorry, bud. What'cha need?"

The voice on the other end of the line was still somewhat timid. "D-did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, man. But don't worry about it. In fact, it's probably better that you did..."

This time, there was a slight laugh. "Why do you say that?"

"Never mind," Wally muttered, not really wanting to relive the whole thing. He looked over at his clock. "Kyle, it's 6:15 in the morning. Why are you calling me at 6:15 in the morning on a Saturday?"

"W-well, uh... it's _that_ Saturday..."

"I know, Kyle. What's the problem?"

"Well... uh... it's just that... um..."

"Spit it out, Rayner!" Wally's dream aggravation was gone, but it was quickly being replaced by early-morning-just-got-woken-up annoyance.

"No one's responded!" Kyle answered hurriedly. 

"What?" 

"No one's responded to the invite. I don't think anyone's coming..."

"Kyle," Wally replied much more calmly, "of course no one has responded. No one _ever_ responds. You know how it works. The invite goes out and everyone just shows up. It's always like that. And don't worry, they'll show up. C'mon, man, you know how much the guys like these Saturdays..."

Wally continued to console his worried friend. He knew that the real issue was that this would be the first Third Saturday that Kyle was hosting alone. He'd done several in the past, but he always co-hosted with Wally. Wally had to admit, it was a little nerve wracking the first time hosting one alone. I mean, you're inviting a handful of the most powerful people on the planet to your house for a night of games and relaxation. Not exactly something Miss Manners can help you with.  

"Look, Kyle. If you want, I can come by at noon or so and help you get set up..."

"No!" Kyle interrupted, "I mean... I can handle it... I just..."

"It'll be fine, Kylie," Wally was trying desperately not to sound condescending, but at 6:15 in the morning, he wasn't even sure he was being coherent. 

Kyle sighed on the other end of the phone, then spoke in a much calmer voice. "You're right, Wally. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just a little... I dunno... nervous?"

"It's cool, man. I'll see you tonight. And hey, if you need me, call..."

***

**Saturday, 9:17 AM**

Kyle stared at the phone for the eighth time in the last hour. "I'm not gonna call Wally!" he reminded himself. He'd been fine for last few weeks, planning and organizing everything down to the last detail. It would be a hit, he knew. Now, however, he was really beginning to wonder. 

"Why did I pick October?!?" he admonished himself. The October Third Saturday was always a bit of a blowout because it was usually the last one they had until the next year. November was Thanksgiving, December was Christmas... everyone was always a little too busy at that time of the year to organize a get-together. So the Third Saturdays Club (as Kyle -- and _only_ Kyle -- liked to call it) always went on hiatus until January. 

In the early days of the current incarnation of the TSC, Kyle never had a problem with hosting. When it was just him, Wally and J'onn, it was more of a small get-together. Now, it had become this seemingly big event. Sure everyone treated it like no big deal, but you were playing cards with the most well-known and quite possibly the most powerful man on the planet, as well as the possibility of having an honest-to-god King show up... 

"Arthur won't show," Kyle reminded himself. "Arthur never shows..."

For once, he seemed somewhat relieved by that. Buying munchies and beer for his buddies was easy, but what the hell do you buy for a King? Never mind that Kyle never really thought of Arthur as a king, but for some reason, that thought had entered his mind this morning. What kind of beer does Royalty drink?!

Kyle shook his head. Starting to stress now over the drinking habits of underwater monarchs wasn't going to make things any easier. God knows, he's had enough go wrong already. 

At 8:45, the Deli had called. They told him that his cheese tray was ready to go, but that their delivery truck hadn't shown up yet, so the meat tray may not be ready until later tonight. 

At 9:15, the Bakery had called. The cake might not be ready until after 4 PM. When probed as to why, considering they had promised a 10:00 AM ready time, they admitted that they had been expecting a delivery truck for about an hour and a half and there was no word as to why it hadn't shown up yet. 

An now, at 9:17, the Party Shoppe called and said that his decorations were on their way, but that the custom sign was not in the shipment and that they would deliver it later. 

"Delivery Truck late?"

"Sí, Señor. How did you...?"

"Lucky guess."

Kyle hung up the phone. So, unless a Secret Society of Evil Delivery Truck Drivers had formed over night and conspired against him, something was wrong. He picked up the TV remote and clicked the station over to News Channel 9. 

_"... and luckily, none of the monkeys were hurt. And now, we take you back to Bunny Charles in Traffic Copter 9. Bunny, is it still a mess down there?"_

_"Well, Dave, to call it a mess would be the understatement of the year. For those of you just joining us, traffic on the GW Bridge has been deadlocked since about 6 this morning, when a tractor-trailer veered across all 4 lanes and smashed into the side of the bridge. There are crews out there now trying to keep the truck from falling into the water, but it will probably be a while. As you can see from Traffic Copter 9, Dave, traffic is backed up all the way across the bridge on both sides..."_

Kyle muted the TV and stood in shocked silence as the images of the 18-wheeler balancing off the edge of the bridge flashed across the screen. While most people watching the broadcast were probably intently watching the teetering truck, Kyle's eyes moved across the screen to the backed-up traffic. Most specifically to the what-looked-like 50,000 white panel trucks all lined up behind the tractor trailer, stuck on the bridge. 

"Of course," he muttered to himself. He turned off the TV, then walked to the kitchen, the ring forming the Green Lantern suit around his body as he walked. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and shut the door. As he did, he noticed his hand-written itinerary for the day tacked to the door. 

9:45 – Be home! Deco. Delivery  
10:00 – Pick up cake  
10:30 – Pick up deli trays  
11:00 – Music shopping @ Virgin (S&J _hate_ Pop! Think Classic Rock!)  
Noon – Home – put stuff away (EAT SOMETHING!!)  
12:30 – Beer Run (Manhattan)  
1:00 – Liquor Run (Bronx)  
2:00 – Visit John S. – pick up Poker Chips.  
3:00 – Visit Alan – pick up "Special Poker Table"  
4:00 – Home (Call Jen)  
5:00 – Clean up apt.  
6:00 – Setup "dry" stuffs (Table, card stuff, munchies, etc)  
6:30 – Shower and get ready  
7:30 – Set out wet/cold stuffs (Ice, dip, drinks, etc).  
8:00 – PAR-TAY!! (Woo Hoo!!!)

Ok, so it wasn't so much of an "itinerary" and more of a "guideline," but at that moment, it looked like it didn't matter. Already the morning was shot, thanks to the tractor-trailer on the bridge. Kyle opened the bottle, took a drink then sighed. Closing the bottle, he willed a holder on his costume belt, dropped the water bottle into it then flew off toward the open window. 

"I still say it's a conspiracy..."

***

**Saturday, 9:28 AM**

"My Liege?" Valerina called, entering Arthur's bedchambers. Arthur walked out of the washroom, tying the cord around is robe. 

"Valerina," Arthur said in mock condescension, "what have I told you about that." He couldn't help but smile at the young woman's blushing cheeks as a look of confusion bathed over her features. 

"A-about what, my liege?" 

"About that! What have I told you about that 'My Liege' stuff!"

Valerina dropped her head slightly, a knowing and embarrassed smile appearing. "I am sorry, My Lie... sir."

Arthur clicked his tongue, chuckling lightly. "Better... it's still not 'Orin' or even 'Arthur' as I prefer, but it will take some time to undo all those years of 'Proper Palace Manners' the old nannies at the school seem to insist on teaching all of you young ones. Anyway, young Valerina, what is it?"

Valerina's head straightened, as she remembered the real reason she came into the King's bedchambers. "There is an incoming transmission, sir. From the... 'Watchtower', I believe." 

Arthur's face suddenly became serious for a second, then lightened as he placed a gentle hand on the young handmaiden's shoulder. "Thank you, Valerina. Please, return to your duties."

"Yes, My Lie... King Orin," she corrected with a bow. He chuckled again as she hurried away. He walked over to his bedroom monitor, punching in the commands for the vid-phone. He would have preferred to keep such technology out of Atlantis – but for Clark and his 400 objections. 

"Speak of the Devil" Arthur thought as the image of the Man of Steel himself appeared on the monitor, big cheesy grin on his face. Arthur stared for a minute, realizing that the grin was, in fact, a little _too_ Big and Cheesy, even for Clark. 

"Hey, J'onn" Arthur addressed the image with a light laugh. 

"Superman" suddenly morphed back into J'onn's normal shape, an annoyed look on his face. "Damn, I thought for sure I'd get you with that one."

"Not quite, J'onn," Arthur replied, still chuckling.

"I'll fool you yet, Artie." J'onn laughed. "Hey listen, the reason I'm calling: I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor."

"Sure, What's up?"

"Well, I was wondering if you were available for the next..." J'onn looked off-screen for a second, presumably at a clock in the Monitor Womb, "uh... two and half hours or so?"

Arthur paused, wondering where this was heading. He hoped that on the exterior it looked more like he was trying to think over his schedule, but realized that J'onn probably knew the truth. "I suppose. Why?"

"Uh... I was kind of hoping you could come fill in for my last bit of Monitor Duty. See, there's something going on in Detroit that I really ought to..."

"Sure," Arthur interrupted with his answer, knowing all too well how bad a liar J'onn was to him. He smirked at the screen as J'onn's face lightened. "Give me about 5 minutes to get ready and I'll meet you there."

"Thanks!" J'onn replied. 

***

**Saturday, 9:33 AM**

Arthur walked into the Monitor Womb, calling out as he entered. "Hey J'onn!"

The Martian spun around in the viewing chair, greeting his friend. "Hey!" he beamed, suddenly morphed into Vulko, Arthur's primary advisor in Atlantis. Vulko/J'onn bowed low. "My Leige."

"Shit. Not you too?!" Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

"What?" J'onn asked, morphing back into his normal form.

"Nothing," Arthur chuckled. He walked up to the chair, his eyes looking over the various screens. "So..." he mused, "what's going on in... Boston, was it?"

"Uh... Detroit," J'onn corrected, eyeing the screens. "It's... uh... a case 'Jones Investigations' is working on. Pretty low-profile right now, but I got a call that one of my suspects was just seen buying a plane ticket, so there's kind of a time issue. Anyway, I won't bore you with the details. I really appreciate this..."

"Don't mention it," Arthur replied slyly, rather surprised with how well his friend had gotten in coming up with stories off the top of his head. Arthur climbed into the chair as J'onn made a rather big deal about hurrying his way toward the door. "Oh, and J'onn?" Arthur called out, waiting for the perfect moment when J'onn was almost out the door.

J'onn paused in the doorway, slowly turning to look at Arthur. "Uh, yeah?"

"Next time," Arthur replied, smiling, "just tell me you want some extra time to sleep before a Third Saturday party." 

J'onn froze for a second and then dropped his head, laughing. "Was it _that_ obvious?"

"J'onn, there's only one day a month that you act this... giddy. It didn't exactly take a... well, Batman to figure this one out."

Both men chuckled, J'onn nodding his head. "Ok. And hey, have you thought any more about coming tonight?"

"I don't know, J'onn. I... we'll see."

"Ok, no pressure. Just think you'd enjoy it..."

"Thanks. Go get some sleep. I'll talk to you later."

J'onn strolled out, heading for the teleport tubes. He knew Arthur would pick up on the Detroit thing, he was just hoping that Arthur hadn't had the time to see who was relieving him at the next shift change. 

***

**Saturday, 9:47 AM**

Kyle flew back along his normal zigzag route back to the apartment. The truck crisis now averted and the traffic finally cleared up, he could try to get back onto a schedule for the party. He mentally started shuffling his schedule around as he approached his building.

"I'll call Alan and John when I get back and see if I can pickup their stuff this morning, then zip over to Virgin by noon and be ready to pickup the food this afternoon... I can still work this out with a little... oh SHIT!"

As he flew up the street, he saw a large white delivery van in front of his building. Normally that wouldn't give him pause, but the large "The Party Shoppe" logo on the side of the van reminded him that the delivery was for his apartment. The fact that two bulky gentlemen appeared to be loading a few large boxes back into the van is what concerned him most. He shot through the window of his apartment like a bullet, immediately dissipating the Green Lantern suit as he ran toward the door. 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..." He bounded down the staircase and stumbled out the front door, just as the van started to pull away from the curb. 

"HEY!! WAIT!!! STOP!!" He ran down the street, frantically waving his arms as the van trundled off down the street. It stopped at the corner as the light turned red and Kyle took off running as fast as his legs could carry him. He made it up to the driver's side window of the fan, now completely out of breath. 

"Hey... *huff*... sor-sorry... I was... *pant* ... bathroom... and... ready now... *huff* delivery..."

The driver turned to eye him warily, then turned to his compatriot in the passenger seat. The passenger lifted up a clip board and started scanning. Suddenly, horns started blaring as the light turned green. Kyle turned and shot a menacing glare at the sports car honking right behind the van as the van's passenger obviously found what he was looking for. 

"Uh... Mr. ... Rayner?" he prompted, looking out to Kyle. 

"Yeah... *huff* that's... that's me. Sorry guys..."

"Yeah, we are too. Call the office and tell them to reschedule the drop off. We'll see if we can get back here this afternoon..."

"WHAT?!?" Kyle screamed incredulously.

"Sorry buddy, but we've got 26 other deliveries to make this morning. Read the agreement. If you're not there, you have to reschedule..."

"BUT I'M HERE NOW!! My apartment is just back up the street!" 

"Sorry," the driver grumbled. The van roared off, forcing Kyle to jump back to avoid his foot getting run over. 

"Son of a BITCH!!" Kyle howled. The driver of the sports car honked again and glared at Kyle as he rocketed past. 

"Oh, fuck off..." Kyle muttered, stomping back toward his apartment building. 

***

**Saturday, 10:05 AM**

How could so much go so wrong in such a short period of time! All I wanted was to put together a Third Saturday like no other. All my plans, all my schedules -- wasted. 

This is complete bullshit. 

And the Party Shoppe?!? What the fuck!? I mean, yeah, they rescheduled -- for "some time after 3 o'clock." What the fuck is that?!? Jesus, next Tuesday is "some time after 3 o'clock"!! 

So now, I have to be back here by Three, and stay here until someone decides to show up. Never mind that I still haven't heard from the Bakery or the Deli about when the other stuff will be ready. _Fuck!_

AND John and Alan were both expecting me this afternoon to pick up the stuff and now I don't know _when_ I'll be by and I still have no earthly idea what kind of music to get and… GOD DAMN IT!!!

That's it. I give up. I'm callin... 

NO!!! No! I'm NOT calling Wally. I can do this! I don't need any help. It's just a few _minor_ set backs. A few bumps in the road. I've handled worse before! Hell, I've faced intergalactic demons and over-powered psychos! I'm the Green Fuckin' Lantern! I can handle this!! 

Ok, call John and Alan. Setup a time this morning to come pick up the stuff. Run to the music store and pick up a few CD's. If Supes and J'onn don't like my choices, screw 'em. It's my party! Then, swing by the deli and bakery and get a time frame... see, I can do this! 

I still think it's a god damned conspiracy...

***

**Saturday, 11:45 AM**

"... so you see, Kyle, this table has held the elbows of most of the Justice Society and even a good portion of the original Justice League..."

Alan Scott was on a roll. He had what could only be described as the World's Most Perfect Poker Table. Kyle had to admit, it was a beautiful table: round, polished mahogany frame, smooth green felt that was still in perfect condition, hand-carved ebony chip trays and drink holders. And, as Alan was explaining, the table has had quite a rich history. Kyle understood that this was a special table for Alan and for many of the others that had used it on a regular basis. He was appreciative for the loan, and he fully understood the emotional attachment Alan had for this table. He wanted desperately for Alan to understand just how fully he appreciated this amazing gift of charity...

But that didn't stop Kyle's eyes from repeatedly glancing toward the clock in the hallway, his precious minutes ticking away...

***

**Saturday, 11:55 AM**

The incoming teleport indicator flashed on the Monitor Womb terminal. Arthur glanced at the clock and was amazed that the time had flown so quickly. He realized that he had no idea who was relieving him on duty, so he swung the chair over to the terminal and pulled up the schedule...

"Shit. Figures," Arthur muttered to himself. It occurred to him that it made perfect sense, but that still didn't help matters. On a hunch he scrolled back through the schedules for the last several months and, amazingly, one name always popped up for duty on the Third Saturday evening shift. With J'onn in control of the scheduling, however, not all _that_ surprising. Of course it was...

"Oh! Hello Arthur!" 

A year earlier, Arthur had thought that voice bordered on divine. That glorious mixture of Pride, Strength, Knowledge, and Royalty all wrapped up in a distinctly feminine chord. Now, it just sounded condescending as hell.

"Hello, Diana," he greeted over his shoulder, closing the schedule list and logging out of the terminal. 

"What are you doing here? I was expecting J'onn," she probed, more curious than concerned. 

"He had an emergency involving a case," Arthur lied, figuring that his best bet was to continue along the same story J'onn had tried on him earlier. "He asked me to cover for him so he could go check it out."

"Ah. Nothing too serious, I hope?" Diana probed, strolling over toward the terminal to log in. 

"No, I don't think so. He seemed to have a handle on it." Arthur stood up from the viewing chair, swinging it around to a ready position for Diana. She turned and noticed the chair now in position behind her, Arthur's hand moving it into place. 

"Oh, thank you, Arthur. That's very kind of you."

Arthur bit his tongue. He was trying desperately not to just snap and scream at her. It finally dawned on him that this was the first time they had been alone in the same room together since...

"Anything major going on?" Diana interrupted his thoughts, her eyes scanning over the various screens. 

"Huh? Oh, uh... no. Not a lot happening in the world today," he replied civilly. He didn't know if she was merely trying to be civil about the whole thing or if, as he suspected, she simply didn't care any more: about what happened, about how she had treated him, about what she had said...

About him. 

"Arthur?" She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you Ok?" Her hand sent warm tingles up his arm, the soft skin of her palm resting gently on his wrist. The feeling flowed over his skin like mercury, rushing up his arm and across his chest. In an instant, all of the emotion, all of the love he remembered from their time together washed over him like a waterfall. His mind racing, he slowly pulled his arm away, his eyes staring blankly ahead at the row of television screens. 

"Arthur?" That calm, soothing tone penetrated his ears and invaded his senses. Away from her touch, the loving emotion was replaced by the burning animosity pounding in his chest. 

_"No, I'm pretty fucking far from 'Ok' you stupid, arrogant Bitch!" _his mind screamed. He coughed lightly, shook his head as if trying to clear away a bad dream, then turned to look at her, his face calm. "Huh?... Oh, sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I've got this... council meeting waiting for me. Big decisions... kinda have me... preoccupied."

She looked at him, her eyes searching his. Neither of them knew exactly how long they stood like that, but it was Arthur who finally broke away. "Right, so... have a good evening, Diana." He turned and started to leave, his mind yelling at him to take her head off and his heart screaming for him to go back to her... back to that touch.

"Arthur?" she called quietly to his back.

He froze, much in the same way J'onn had earlier, only Arthur didn't turn back around. "Yes, Diana?"

"What happened between us?"

There it was: the question he had been waiting for and dreading at the same time. His heart leapt up into his throat and he turned to face her. "What?" was all he managed to croak out. 

"What happened, Arthur? Why don't we talk any more?"

Arthur was incredulous. _Why don't we talk anymore?_ Was she serious?! Against his better judgement, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, trying to sound as calm as possible. 

"Why don't we talk any more? Why don't we _talk any more_?! What the hell kind of a question is that, Diana? I think you made it pretty fucking clear why we don't talk any more! You said..."

"Arthur, I..."

"NO!!" Arthur bellowed, pointing his finger at her. "No! You don't get to interrupt. Last time, it was all about you. You were the one who came in, ranting and screaming. You were the one who got to speak your mind and then storm out! And I sat there and listened. I listened to every word while you stood there with your sanctimonious ramblings and self-righteous condemnations. This time, you're gonna shut up and listen to what **I** have to say!"

Diana's face tightened. Arthur knew that getting angry with her was the wrong way to handle it. Diana would get defensive. Diana would start screaming back. He didn't really want to get into a shouting match with her. But the floodgates were open, and everything he'd had pent up inside for months just came rushing out. 

"You were the one, Diana. **You** were the one who called it off. You were the one who said you couldn't take it any more. You were the one who called me a sneaky, underhanded bastard. You were the one who said that I was ashamed of us, of what we had. But I was never ashamed, Princess. I was never ashamed of what we had! I never took you or what we had for granted. I cherished every moment, every embrace, every kiss. I reveled in the fact that we were together. I was ready to stand on top of the waves and proclaim to the world how I felt about you! Then, you come out of no where and tell me it's over! You came in and ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it! _You called it off_! I tried that night! I tried to get a word in edgewise. I tried to get an explanation. I offered to sit down and talk it out, but you just screamed louder and walked out the door. I had absolutely **no say** in what was happening! Princess Diana made her proclamation and that was final! It was you!"

"No, Arthur, you don't understa..."

Arthur bulldozed on, blocking out her interruptions. "Then... **THEN**, you pull the ultimate slap in the face! THEN, you fucking ditch me in the battlefield! In the middle of a goddamn fight, you just walk away and leave me to deal with it by myself!! I mean, hurting me personally is one thing, but that was just goddamned unprofessional!! You took our personal squabbles into battle and let them affect your decisions, and left me to die in the field! **What the fuck was that?!? **Huh? So after all of this, after everything you did to me, you have the audacity to sit there and ask me why we don't fucking _talk any more_?! Well, you know what, Princess? Fuck you! That's right, FUCK... YOU! I'm sick of it. Sick of your bullshit. Sick of your lies. Sick of whatever problems you have being forced off on me! You can take your 'talk' and shove it straight up your condescending ass!" 

He turned, his face red with rage and headed for the door again. He knew she would respond. He knew that she would start yelling any second, giving her own little version of things, making her excuses...

"I'm sorry"

Arthur stopped and recoiled like he'd been shot in the back. Slowly, he turned back to face her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "W-What?"

"I said: I'm sorry, Arthur."

All of the anger, all of the rage, all of the animosity flew away as she said the two words he never expected to come out of her mouth. He watched, frozen as her head dropped, then raised back up, a look of sorrow and pain on her face. 

"I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you like this. I never meant for things to turn out like this. I... I'm sorry."

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, calling out for her, yelling at him to run to her, hold her in his arms and tell her it would all be all right. It screamed at him to forgive her, to understand...

His mind slammed the door. 

"Yeah, well... 'Sorry' just doesn't cut it any more, Princess." He turned around and walked out. 

***


	3. There'd be days like this!

**Saturday 12:17 PM**

"Who?"

"Bob... Dy-lan" Kyle spoke slowly and clearly at the young man behind the counter. The boy couldn't have been more than 17 years old and had more piercings on his face than a Zulu native. 

"Ah, you mean _Jacob_ Dylan... The Wallflowers," the boy pshaw-ed, obvious disdain on his face. "They're in the Rock section, under W"

"No," Kyle said slowly. "Not Jacob. Bob. Jacob's Father."

"Jacob Dylan's father made a CD? Hah, talk about cashing in on your son's fame..."

Kyle just shook his head. Unbelievable. 

Suddenly, Kyle felt someone tapping his shoulder. He spun around and came face to face with a gorgeous redhead who looked to be in her mid-twenties. She smiled warmly and held up a Credence Clearwater Revival CD. "They've got 'em all in the 'Oldies' section."

"Oldies?! You're kidding me?" Kyle asked, suddenly extremely relieved to be talking to someone who knew that there was music made before 1995. 

"Unfortunately, I'm not," she answered with a chuckle. "Check over there," she pointed to a corner of the store at a large black-and-white sign reading "Oldies" hung from the ceiling. 

"Thank you. You're a life saver!" Kyle gushed. 

"No, a Life Saver is a candy. Or a circular floatation device used on a boat," she replied with a smirk. "I'm a 'Sharon'." She extended her hand for Kyle to shake it. 

He stared at her for a minute, actually processing what she had said. "Oh, sorry," he said, shaking her hand. "I'm a 'Kyle'. Thank you, Sharon." 

Her eyes flicked down quickly, scanning over his body. Her eyes locked back on his, her warm smile returning. "You're welcome, Kyle. You look like you're having a rough day."

"You have _no_ idea..." he chuckled. "Thanks again," he added, before heading off toward the Oldies section.

"No Problem." She watched him go, twirling a section of her hair as her eyes locked on his backside. "No problem _at all_...

Kyle searched through the Oldies section, flabbergasted to find that they had crammed about 40 years of rock music history into 6 laughably small CD racks. He picked out a couple of CD's (Bob Dylan, The Eagles, Janis Joplin, and the same CCR CD, Sharon was holding) then headed back to the front counter. 

"Dude, d'you get her digits?" the metal-enhanced clerk asked as he scanned the disks. 

"What?" Kyle asked absently, more concerned about getting out of the store at that moment. 

"Her digits, man! Her phone number!"

"Who?" Kyle asked, handing the kid his money.

"The carrot-top. Dude, she was a hottie! You should have seen her checkin' you out, man."

"Wh-what?!" Kyle looked at the kid incredulously. "Y-you mean Sharon?" 

"Yeah, G! Don't tell me you didn't get her digits, man, 'cuz that's just a crime against nature." The boy shoved Kyle's CD's in a bag and handed them over. 

"No," Kyle corrected, taking his bag. "That was an over-sight. A simple miscommunication. You, on the other hand, are a crime against nature." He turned and walked out of the record store, mumbling to himself. He stopped suddenly, the whole record store experience playing over in his head. The kid was right, she had been hitting on him. She was a knockout, expressing interest in him and he blew her off to go look at CD's (in the "Oldies" section, no less!). Then, he'd come this close to actually yelling at the kid behind the counter about "real music, back when I was growing up." It was at that precise moment that realization crashed down on his throbbing head. 

"Dear god! I've gotten old!"

***

Saturday, 2:53 PM 

"Hey it's Kyle and this is it, the phone machine that doesn't quit. You know what to do with it, so leave a message or take a beep"

"Uh, hello? Mr. Rayner? This is Simon from Grabowski Deli. You party platters are ready. We're sorry for the delay..."

"Shit! Hang on! Hang on!" Kyle shouted through the front door as he juggled the various bags that filled his hands, fumbling for his keys. "Don't hang up!"

_"... you can come down any time before 5 PM today to pick them up. If you have any questions, call us back at 202-555-DELI..."_

"Fuck it!" Kyle grumbled as the bags started to slip from his hand. A green glowing key shot out from the ring on his finger and slid into the lock, opening the door just in time for an explosion of shopping bags to tumble into the apartment, followed closely by a running Kyle. 

"... or just come on by and pick 'em up. Thank you so much for your order and we'll see you..."

He tripped over one of the bags, collided into the couch, flipped over said couch, landed on the floor and scrambled up to pick up the phone.  

"H-hello?... HELLO!?! Oh, great! You're still there. *pant* ... Sorry... I just... *huff* ...ran in the door... and... ouch!...  fell over my couch... Sorry. You were saying? Great! Oh, thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Ok... by Five?" He looked up at the clock. "Shit... no-no. No problem. I'll be there by five. Thanks." Kyle hung up the phone, collapsed onto the floor, and let out an exasperated "Fuck!"

After a brief moment of collecting himself, he got up, his side throbbing from the catastrophic couch dive. Instantly, he noticed the front door still open. He stumbled over, closed the door, and began gathering the assorted shopping bags. 

He started putting things away, then stopped, slapping himself in the forehead. He walked over to the balcony and peered down at his SUV. Ok, technically it was Jen's SUV, but since she was in Minnesota for the weekend, it was _his_ SUV for now. Alan's table – the illustrious poker table – sat in the back, covered by a blanket. He promised Alan to get it out of the car as soon as possible (granted that was 3 hours and 4 headaches ago) because it was sitting in the back of the car on its top. The daunting task of hauling that heavy ass thing up 5 flights of stairs _by himself_ didn't quite appeal to him at that moment. He glanced up and down the alley, checking for any on-lookers, then sent two large green hands floating down. One opened the back of the SUV while the other pulled the table out, rising up and bringing it into the apartment. The first hand closed the car, checked all the locks, then dissipated. 

The table now in place in the living room, Kyle glanced over at the answering machine as he made his way back to the kitchen. The message indicator blinked the number 3. He walked over and pressed the Play button, then headed to the kitchen.

Beep Hello, Mr. Rayner. This is Harmon's Bakery. Your cake is prepared. You can come by any time before 5:30 tonight to retrieve it. Thank you for your patience this morning and we apologize for any inconvenience.

"Huh, no inconvenience at all, jackass..." Kyle called out from the kitchen. 

Beep Hey sweetie!

"Shit! Jen! Goddamn it!" Kyle walked back into the living room, listening to the rest of the message. 

... Minnesota is... well, Minnesota. I was just calling to hear your voice. Don't forget, my plane lands at 12:30 Monday afternoon.  I love you. I miss you. Ok, bye.

"Aww. I've got the greatest girl in the world. Take that, Ms. Redhead-Virgin-Records-Flirty-head." 

The last message was the one he had run in on. "Ok," he thought to himself, checking the clock, "I have to get to the Deli by 5, the Bakery by 5:30 and be back here by 7 or so to finish getting ready. The great Rayner plan, version 4.2 should be back on track and ready to go... as long as the Party Shoppe delivery guys get here before 4 o'clock or so..."

***

**Saturday, 4:35 PM.**

"Fuck!" 

Still no Party Shoppe. If they didn't arrive in the next 5 minutes or so, he'd have to forgo the decorations and specialty dishes and go for the Deli Trays and cake. It was a sure-fire bet that Kyle would _never_ use this damn shop again. They screwed him that morning and it was beginning to look like they were gonna screw him this evening too. Add on top of that that he hadn't been to the bathroom since he got home because he _KNEW_ that the second he went in there, they'd come a-knockin'. 

He sat on the couch, bladder begging for mercy, as he stared at the door, willing the delivery guys to arrive. He almost pissed on the couch when there was actually a knock at the door. He got up, wincing with the pain in his gut, and stomped for the door. 

"It's about goddamn time. I want you to know that you've completely screwed me..."

He opened the door to see, not the delivery guys, but a widely smirking Wally, leaning against the doorjamb. "Well, no I haven't yet, but if you play your cards right, big boy..."

"Gah! Wally! You son of a bitch!"

"What?" Wally laughed as he walked in. He turned to look at Kyle, his smile fading when he saw his friend's face. "Dude, are you ok?"

"Am I Ok? AM I OK?!?! NO, I'm pretty fuckin' far from OK!! I get up this morning..."

"And call me," Wally interjected. 

Kyle just stared at him, then continued. "_Anyway_, I got up this morning, and got phone calls from the Deli, the Bakery and the party supply store, all of which tell me that the stuff I ordered won't be ready because their delivery trucks haven't shown up yet, I turn on the news to see a fucking 18-wheeler blocking the _entire_ George Washington bridge, keeping all of the delivery trucks from their destinations. So I go to fix the problem at the bridge like a good little Superhero, and when I get back, the Party Shoppe assholes are pulling away. I almost killed myself running after them, only for them to tell me to call the office to reschedule the delivery. So then, I run off to John's to get the poker stuff, then on to Alan's where I have to listen to the entire life history of the goddamn table of the century, from tree to this morning. _Then_, I have to listen to this punk-ass little snot-nosed Heavy Metal wannabe at the fucking record store wax poetic about Jacob fucking Dylan and stand there completely oblivious as this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous redhead hits on me. **Then** I have to sit in line at the fucking grocery store behind some non-English-speaking dick-wad trying to sneak some 30 fucking boxes of goddamn Pudding Pops through the '15 Items or Less' aisle, and then have the audacity to try and pay for all that chocolaty-goodness with a goddamn out-of-COUNTRY check! And I'm not even gonna talk about the imbecilic 19-year-old jack-off trying to buy three fifths of Jim Beam at the friggin' liquor store! **_THEN_** I get home to the phone ringing, almost spill the entire contents of my packages all over the fucking hallway, almost bust my neck over the goddamned couch just trying to get to the phone on time! NOW, I've been waiting here for the last hour and a goddamn half for the fucking Party Shoppe assholes to show up, and I've got like 20 minutes to get the Deli trays and like 50 minutes to get the cake and I haven't been able to take a piss THIS WHOLE GODDAMN TIME!!! I swear to Christ it's a goddamned CONSPIRACY!!"

Wally stood, trying desperately not to laugh in his obviously desperate buddy's face. "D-dude, c'mon take a breath! Look, first, go pee. Then we'll deal with the rest of this after that..."

Before Wally even finished the sentence, the bathroom door was slamming shut. 4 minutes later, Kyle emerged, looking decidedly calmer (and possibly a little lighter). Wally led him over to the couch, sat him down and stood next to him. 

"Ok, you stay here and wait for the Party Shoppe guys. Give me the addresses for the bakery and the deli and I'll go pick the stuff up. I'll meet you back here in a bit and we'll get everything setup together, ok?" 

Kyle slowly turned toward his friend, a dejected and almost defeated look on his face. "I-it's too late. Everything is ruined..."

"Too late? Too late?!" Wally smirked, opening the secret compartment in his ring, his Flash suit springing out. "Who do you think you're talking to!"

***

Saturday, 6:32 PM 

To Arthur's surprise, he did actually have a council meeting waiting for him upon his return to Atlantis. Actually, he had a whole afternoon full of them. In one respect, he was actually glad: it helped keep his mind off of what had happened in the Watchtower. 

Now that most of the "business" of the day was done,  however, he found himself dwelling on the whole thing. He never meant to blow up at Diana like he had. He never meant to be so cold. But something about the way she was acting just set him off. As much as he still cared -- yes, he had to admit that much, at least to himself -- it was becoming increasingly more and more difficult for him to handle being around her. 

Then, she had asked the question. 

_"Why don't we talk anymore?"_

He thought it over, again and again, his mind trying to make sense out of it all.

He still loved her. There was no avoiding that. The simple act of her touching his arm had sent his mind, heart and body, into a tailspin. He knew that, regardless of what ever came between them, some part of him would always love her. 

He was still angry over the way she had treated him... ok, that wasn't fair. He had to admit that some of it wasn't really her fault. She was going through a pretty rough time. He could have been a bit more understanding...

Wait, how could he be more understanding? She never told him anything about it! He didn't know! All he knew was she stormed in one night, screamed her head off that it was over and walked out on him.

Arthur sighed, looking out of the dome of the ante-chamber, taking solace in the inherent beauty of his undersea kingdom. The more he thought it through, the more confusing it became. He knew she had been hurting. The missing Lasso had damaged her in ways that he couldn't even imagine... 

He paused, looking down at the long harpoon that now served as his left hand. Perhaps he understood more than he thought. Great personal loss was something he was intimately familiar with. He thought back to how he had pushed everyone away when he lost his hand. Things became so much easier for him when he kept everyone away from him. He, too, had gone on a bit of "house-cleaning." 

But the one thing he had never done is neglect or abandon a friend or teammate in the middle of battle. That one still stung, and stung deeply. And now this. After all that had happened, she was asking him why they weren't close anymore. Did she honestly think that they could just pick back up where they had left off, "no harm, no foul?"

He just didn't understand her. And he didn't understand how he could still love her and yet hate her at the same time...  

Again, not fair. He didn't hate her. He hated what she had done. He hated what she had said. He hated... the way she made him feel. 

There was one thing he did know for certain. 

He needed a drink. 

***

**Saturday, 7:28 PM**

Kyle walked out of the bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower. Wally was putting the finishing touches on the food table. He grabbed the last box from the Party Shoppe, not expecting it to be as heavy as it was. 

"Ugh. What the hell is in this?" Wally set it back down on the table. 

Kyle walked up beside him, slicing the top of the box open with his pocketknife. "This," he said, with a modicum of pride, "is the _Piece de Resistance_! The _Coup de Grace_! The... some other French phrase that I don't know the meaning of." He reached into the box and pulled out a set of hard plastic plates and set them on the table. 

Wally looked down, a small smirk creeping onto his face as he stared at the large, bold "JLA" emblem emblazoned in the center of the top plate. 

"I present to you, oh Man of Quickness, the infamous 'JLA Party Set' complete with plates," Kyle returned to the box, pulling out more items, "napkins, silverware and glasses. The glasses are the best part. Each one has a symbol of a different Leaguer on it!" He pulled a particular glass out, handing it to Wally. "There you are, my friend. Your very own 'Flash' commemorative glass." 

Wally stared down at the large yellow lightning bolt crested on the side of the glass. He had to admit, it was pretty funny. He hoped the others would see the joke, but he knew at the very least he and Kyle would enjoy it. Some of the other Leaguers had issues with being "idolized" with things like this, but he and Kyle always thought it was kind of funny. 

A knock at the door drew both their attentions. Kyle glanced around the room, taking inventory of what was set up. 

"Uh... I'm not expecting any more deliveries..."

Wally looked down at his watch, then turned to Kyle. "That would be Plaz."

Kyle checked his own watch. 7:30. "You know," he said, heading toward the door, "that man is late for everything: meetings, missions, his own party... but he's _always_ at least a half an hour early for Third Saturdays."

"That's our Plaz!" Wally agreed with a chuckle as Kyle opened the door. 

Eel stood in the doorway, morphed into an odd red-and-yellow Vegas Casino Dealer, complete with visor, glasses, vest and cigar. He strolled into the room, laughing heartily. "Ladies and Gentlemen, lock up your daughters! The Magic Man of Plastic is fired up and ready to prowl! Howwooooooo!"

Kyle and Wally laughed as Eel made a bee-line toward the food table. Wally emerged from the kitchen and pressed a cold beer into Eel's hand. Eel looked down at the beer, then looked back up at Wally, a huge smile on his face. 

"Thank you, my man." Eel said with a wink, popping the top on the beer can. "You know me too well!" He cocked his head back and began guzzling the beer while Wally walked over next to Kyle and nudged him on the arm. "Yep, that's our Plaz!"

***

**Saturday, 7:55 PM**

It had been twenty five minutes, and true to form, Eel had already had four beers. Kyle and Wally moved around The Infamous Poker Table, putting the finishing touches on the place settings: poker chips in the slots, munchies-bowls, napkins, etc. Wally walked over to chat with Plaz, who had made his way onto Kyle's couch, as Kyle went to answer a knock at the door. 

Kyle opened the door to reveal a tall dark-skinned scantily-clad woman, adorned with crossed-out Green Lantern Symbol earrings and brandishing a pole-axe taller than she was. She was 6-feet of angry, violent, vicious, nasty, Green Lantern killing machine.

Fatality. 

On a normal night, Kyle would have immediately shifted into Green Lantern mode. On a normal night, the sight of not just his, but ALL Green Lanterns' worst nightmare come true standing on his doorstep would immediately send him into a fighting frenzy. But this was no normal night. 

This was Third Saturday. 

Kyle calmly turned away from the door, nonchalantly walking back toward the poker table. "Hey J'onn. C'mon in."

"Damn," the Martian replied, shifting into his normal form, "I can't fool anyone today." J'onn walked in, heading over toward the food table, High-Five-ing Wally on his way. He glanced over to see Eel lounging out on the couch. "How you doing, Plaz?" 

"Me? Oh, I'm just fine, fine, fine, my man." Plaz answered, tipping his beer can at J'onn in a toast before tilting it back and finishing it. J'onn cocked a questioning eyebrow at Kyle, who promptly held up four fingers, answering J'onn's unasked question. J'onn merely shook his head slowly, grabbing a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the table. 

"Hey, isn't that Alan's infamous poker table?" J'onn motioned to said table. 

"Yes, it is!" The reply came from the balcony as Superman landed and strolled through the door. "You know, that table has been..."

"I know!" Kyle interjected, not really caring to hear the entire table saga for the second time in one day. 

Superman laughed as Kyle brought him an iced tea. "Now that's the look of a man who sat through Alan's entire story of that table." Superman took the glass and paused, staring at the large logo on the side that conveniently matched the one on his chest. He cocked an eyebrow at Kyle, then chuckled "JLA Commemorative Gift Set?" 

Kyle winked. "World's finest!" 

***

**Saturday, 9:17 PM**

"I see your ten and raise you twenty." Steel tossed two chips into the growing pile. 

The six men sat around the poker table, cards in hand: Kyle, Wally, Plaz, Steel, J'onn and Superman. The drink holders in the table held their respective player's Commemorative Glass. Kyle was glad to see that they all got the joke. He looked around the table, content that all of his headaches throughout the day had been worth it. He smiled quietly to himself, then returned his attention to Superman, who was in mid-story:

"So, I finally pinpoint the location of the silent alarm. I start to land in front of the bank when this guy comes flying out of the door, over-stuffed sack in hand..."

"No shit?!" Wally interjected. "Ran out right in front of you?"

"Well, I hadn't quite landed yet and I don't think he saw me, but yeah. Anyway, I land and do a quick scan of the interior of the bank and see everyone on the floor, hands on their heads. Now, I know I'm not really considered the smartest one in the League, but I think I pretty much had this one figured out."

There was a collective laugh from the table. Ever the public speaker, Superman waited until the laughter stopped to continue:

"So, I look up the street and see this guy turn and disappear down an alley. I double-check to make sure no one inside is hurt, then I fly off after the guy. As I get close to the alley, I hear this yell."

"Yell?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, yell. But not like the scared type of yell. The shocked and exasperated type of yell. It was this loud 'NO!' By the time I reach the alleyway, I'm hearing this thumping sound. I can't figure out what the hell it is, so I spin around the corner into the alley and there's the crook: sitting on the ground next to a car, the bag of money sitting on the ground next to him. He's got his knees up to his chest and the banging is him swinging his head back and banging it against the side of the car! I had no idea what was going on! He doesn't even seem to notice that I'm there. He's just sitting there, moaning to himself, eyes closed, slowly banging his head against the car door. I approach him cautiously and cough, trying to let him know I was there. His head snaps forward suddenly and he looks right at me. For an instant, I'm thinking: 'This guy's gonna snap!' I mean, he looked like he was ready to jump up and start swinging. Then, he just gets this resigned look on his face and drops his head down on his knees."

"He just sat there? What the fuck?" Wally interrupted again.

"Turns out, this guy had been planning this thing for _months_. He'd done a few small robberies before; mostly small time stuff - convenience stores, liquor stores, and so on - and always with other guys. Well, he decided he was gonna plan one big score and do it alone. Big payoff and get out of the business for good. Anyway, he plotted and planned for months. Staked out the bank, learned their security schedule, got familiar with the traffic patterns, the whole nine yards. He finally decides it's time to do it. He said that the job itself went perfectly. Exactly like he planned it, even down to one of the security guards being in the bathroom! He told me that as soon as he ran out the bank door, he got that feeling. That everything-is-going-way-too-well-and-something-is-going-to-go-wrong feeling. So he hightails it up the street, runs into the alley, heads for the car, and..."

Superman paused dramatically, a small smile appearing on his lips as the rest of the table stared with keen interest for him to finish.

"... he had locked his keys in the car!"

The table erupted with laughter. While they had a pretty strict rule about no "League Business" at Third Saturdays, a good Bad-Luck bad-guy story was always appreciated. 

"See the twenty, raise another ten," J'onn added, still laughing. 

***

**Saturday, 10:25 PM**

"Full house, queens high." Wally laid his cards on the table with a snap, eliciting a groan from the rest of the table. Just as he was leaning forward to grab his chips, Steel spoke up. 

"Not so fast, Speedy Gonzales."

Everyone stopped and looked at Steel, who suddenly grinned and laid down his hand: Four Aces and a 10. Exasperated sighs and gasps went up around the table. 

"Damn it!" Wally shouted. "Every friggin' time I have a good hand..."

Everyone laughed, Wally included. Winning or losing, it was all just in good fun. Eel drained the last of his beer then got up, heading for the kitchen. Kyle called after him. 

"Hey Plaz, grab me another one, would ya?"

An elongated hand stretched out from the kitchen and placed a fresh beer in front of Kyle. As it shrunk back, Eel's head poked out from around the kitchen doorway. "Hey Rayner. You got anything... harder than beer around here?" 

Kyle smirked. "Plaz, do you really think I'd have you over at my house and NOT have some Jack Daniels on hand? Check the cabinet above the fridge."

Plastic Man's head disappeared back into the kitchen, followed shortly by a loud "Woo Hoo!" sending the room into laughter again. Suddenly the entire room fell completely silent, each inhabitant turning and looking at another. 

There had been a knock at the door. The questioning looks continued as each person mentally tallied all in attendance. The usual crew was all there, so that meant an outsider. Those out of costume -- Wally, Steel and a morphed J'onn -- all surrounded the table while those in costume -- Eel, Superman -- found "convenient" hiding places. Kyle walked up to the door, sending one last look back at the assembled crew and shrugged. He opened the door and gawked. 

"A-Arthur?" 

All three heads at the table leaned over in unison, seeing the casually dressed Aquaman standing in the hallway. Alone. For a good 30 seconds. 

"Uh... are you going to invite me in or do I stand out here all night?" 

Kyle smiled. "Of course, of course. Come on in. Sorry, I guess we just didn't expect you..." Kyle looked to the others for confirmation and saw a room full of slowly nodding heads. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade? Water?"

"How 'bout a beer?" 

"Sure! What kind you want?

"Doesn't matter. Whatever you got." Arthur strolled over and shook J'onn's hand, the Martian smiling wide. 

"Welcome, Arthur. Glad you could make it." 

Clark came in from the balcony and made his way to the table, clasping Arthur on the shoulder. "Hey, Arthur. Good to see you." 

"Thanks, Big Blue." 

The guys all shifted the chairs around the table as Kyle brought in a new one for Arthur, along with his beer, poured into his very own Commemorative Glass. Arthur took the beer, peering at the glass. He glanced around at the other glasses on the table, noticing the trademark logo/symbols on all the glasses. He stared at his glass, at what looked like a giant upside-down yellow "V". He looked at Kyle, a questioning look on his face. 

"What's this?" Arthur asked, pointing to the big yellow symbol. 

"Uh..." Kyle looked around, as if expecting assistance from the others, who were all giving him the same looks as Arthur was. "It's... uh... it's your commemorative glass..."

"No, I meant this thing," Arthur clarified, tapping the center of the symbol.

"Oh! Uh... that's your logo." Kyle looked around wondering if he was all of a sudden crazy. He got equally confused looks from all of the others. Well, except J'onn, who looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek for some reason. 

"My logo? Kyle, I'm a king. I don't need a logo," Arthur stated flatly.

"Oh, uh... well... uh..." Kyle blundered, looking around for help he wasn't getting from anywhere. He quickly blurted the quickest thing he could think of. "I didn't make it up! I bought these. Someone else made the symbol, I just..."

"You know, Kyle," Arthur interrupted, his voice staying flat. "I'm beginning to think J'onn was right about you..." Kyle looked over at J'onn, who now looked like he was gnawing the inside of his cheek like a beaver. He looked back to Arthur, sitting quite calmly. Suddenly, Arthur cracked a wide smile. "You are really fucking gullible!" 

There was an instant of complete silence, then Arthur and J'onn cracked up simultaneously, followed shortly by the rest of the table. It took Kyle a bit longer to catch on, but he finally started laughing. And blushing profusely. 

"So," Arthur inquired as the room started to quiet back down. "What are we playing?"

"Five card draw," Wally explained. "Wild is dealer's choice."

"And of course," Superman chimed in, "the _one_ rule of Third Saturday Poker Night?"

The entire room joined in the unison chorus: "No Powers!"

J'onn would later explain to Arthur that the "No Powers" rule came about after a particular game several months ago. It seems that someone (read: Steel) came to the conclusion that it was patently unfair to be playing Poker against a telepath, someone with x-ray vision, someone who could run around the table without anyone noticing, someone who could use a particular power ring to read minds and/or construct something behind everyone's back to reflect their hands and a person who could stretch his eyeballs around the entire table without moving. And considering that against those odds, he _still_ cleaned house that night, it was decided that a No Powers rule should be instituted before it got out of control. Plus, they would stop playing for money.

***

**Saturday, 11:33 PM**

"Plaz, what the hell is that?" J'onn pointed at the glass Eel was lifting to his lips. 

Eel took a sip of the dark liquid, then set the glass back into it's holder. After four tries. "Jack and Coke. Why? You wwwwant one?"

"No, not the drink. The Glass." 

Eel lifted the glass again, inspecting the side like a gem cutter with a prize cut diamond. "What? My glash had b-beer in it! I didn't want to ushh the shaame one for the liquor. That's just uncoush. Uncoot. Uncouthhh!" 

"But Wonder Woman's glass?!" Assorted snickers started popping around the table. 

"Sho?" Eel burbled, getting the glass back into the holder in the table after only two tries. Several of the other players chuckled and shook their heads. 

"Is there something you're not telling us, Eel?" 

"W-wha? Wha do you mmean?" Eel's face suddenly went very serious, his eyes darting around, albeit somewhat lazily. 

"You're not going to spontaneously change gender on us are you?" 

The good natured laughter peppered the room again, Eel catching on quickly. He morphed his body into a strange impersonation of Diana, complete with over-exaggerated chest. "Why? You intereshted, Big Boy?" 

The absurdity of Eel's caricature caused more hilarity throughout the group. Once the laughter died down, Superman turned to J'onn.

"Actually, speaking of which: How's she doing?" 

"She's fine. She's finally able to carry the Lasso full time again."

"Good," Superman affirmed. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I think we all are," Kyle agreed. "I mean, regardless of what's been said, or what she's done, she's still a teammate and a friend. I'm glad to see she'll be okay." Kyle tossed one arm around Eel's shoulder and used his other hand to jiggle one of Plaz's grotesquely oversized breasts. "And I know Plaz will be glad to have the Wonder Twins back in the weekly meetings!" 

Kyle, Wally and Steel laughed. Arthur spit his beer out. Eel shot a strange look at J'onn. J'onn and Superman looked at each other, looks of sheer shock on their faces. They both turned and looked at Kyle simultaneously, then back at each other, then over to Arthur, who traded an equally surprised look back at them.  Slowly, all three of their heads turned toward Kyle.

"Kyle!" Superman spat, his face still aghast. "_What_ did you just say?" 

Kyle saw the look in Superman's eyes and immediately became defensive. "What? WHAT? All I said was that Plaz will be glad to have her back!"

"No," Superman clarified, "not that. What did you call... them!" He pointed at Eel's fake breasts, Kyle's hand still resting underneath one. 

"Wha? What? Oh, you mean the 'Wonder Twins'? That's just my nickna..." Kyle froze as Superman, J'onn and Arthur seemed to be trading flabbergasted looks back and forth. After a full 30 seconds of open-mouthed staring between the trio, they all simultaneously exploded with the loudest, most intense burst of laughter Kyle had ever seen. The three men literally collapsed into each other, arms over each other's shoulders as they bellowed out peals of laughter that Kyle was certain would shake the paint off of his walls. 

Kyle looked over at Wally and Steel, who both shrugged, then turned to watch the Three Amigos fall out of their chairs, one by one, still laughing. 

"I- I think we missed something..." Kyle suggested. Eventually, everyone was laughing again: Superman, Arthur and J'onn at whatever had been so funny, and Steel, Wally, Kyle and Eel at the spectacle of the first three.

After a good solid five minutes of total hysterics, they all started finally regaining their composure. At least until the original trio finally calmed down and looked at each other, tears streaming down each of their faces. They suddenly burst out laughing all over again, just as hard as the first time. Kyle mentally checked their drink totals and discovered that there was barely enough alcohol consumed between the three of them to get a 15-year-old drunk, much less cause this. He obviously missed something. 

Finally, everyone calmed down enough to begin slowly returning to their seats. Superman stood, turning to the group. "Heh ha ha... *ahem* Heh... ok... ok... *whew* Right! On that n-n-note... I must call it a night. I have to go sit my shift on Monitor Duty." He turned to the host of the party. "Kyle, thank you very much. I had a great time. You guys take care. I'm sorry, but I have to go now." He paused, laughter creeping into his voice again. He laid one hand on J'onn's shoulder and on hand on Arthur's before adding: 

"I have to go relieve the W-W-Wonder Twins..."

Superman rocketed out of the apartment, but his laughter could still be heard as he flew away. J'onn and Arthur started up again, holding on to each other to keep from falling out of their chairs. Kyle looked at the others again. 

"I _definitely_ think we missed something!"

***

Sunday, 1:48 AM 

Kyle closed the door to his apartment then turned and leaned back against it, blowing out a deep breath. 

"Well, I'd say that was a screaming success!" Wally beamed as he began clearing off the poker table. 

Kyle kicked away from the door, coming over to the table to begin cleaning as well. "Yeah. All told I guess everything was worth it. Although I doubt my wallet will recover anytime soon!" 

"No kidding!" Wally agreed. "Who knew Arthur was such a good player!?! He cleaned us all out."

"And did you see his face?!" 

About 10 minutes after Superman's departure -- once they had all settled down again and were getting back into the game -- Arthur had been handed the deck to deal. They all offered to help him shuffle, but they all stared in awed silence as he expertly cut, shuffled and dealt the deck with one hand. A mischievous look crossed his face as he glanced around the table, meeting each of their eyes in turn. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, slapped it on the table and teased: "So... now that the Boy Scout is gone, who wants to make this interesting?" 

Now, two hours later, Arthur was $500 richer and the others were going home basically empty-handed.  

"Yeah, creepy. I just don't get it."

Suddenly, a gurgling voice popped up from the couch. "Whuddya exshpect. He hangsh around wiff sharksh all day..."

Kyle and Wally looked over to the lump that earlier in the night had looked a lot like Plastic Man but was now a mass of drooping flesh lying on Kyle's couch. 

"Amazing," Wally chuckled, "Completely sloshed and he's still telling bad jokes. I swear he probably tells 'em in his sleep." 

"Speaking of Captain Droopy-Pants: what am I supposed to do with him now?" Kyle wondered, not really looking forward to the prospect of an over-inebriated stretchy-man sleeping on his couch. 

"Don't worry," Wally assured him. "I'll drop him off at his apartment on my way home." 

"You sure?" 

"Yeah. I figure a nice evening jog at Mach 2 will do him some good..." 

Kyle chuckled. "Probably." Kyle lifted two handfuls of dishes and headed for the kitchen while Wally wiped down the poker table. 

"Hey Wally," Kyle called out from the kitchen, "check and see if there are any other dishes out there, would ya?"

"Sure," Wally called looking around. Immediately something caught his eye and he froze. He stared straight ahead, then looked down at where he was standing. He looked back up, still staring wide-eyed, and bellowed: 

"Son-of-a-**_BITCH!!_**" 

Kyle came running out of the kitchen, towel still draped over his shoulder, frantic look on his face. "What?! WHAT?! What's wrong?!"

Wally looked at his friend, then down at the table again. "Kyle, please don't tell me that this is where Arthur was sitting."

Kyle looked at Wally strangely, then tried to remember. "Actually, yeah, I think it is. I think that's where he was. Why?" 

Wally pointed straight ahead and Kyle turned to follow the direction in which he was pointing and saw exactly what had Wally had seen.  

Jen's aquarium. Filled with fish. 

"That son of a _bitch_."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Brii, Ken and Chris for their support and assistance. :D

Come visit us at the Cat-Tails message board: http://pub101.ezboard.com/fgothampmfrm26


	4. Changes

Un-fucking-believable. 

Ok, I'll admit that there's a certain amount of mystique and intrigue involving what we do. I'll admit that in the absence of any real information regarding who we are and how we operate tends to lend itself to suspicion. We don't tell the public the details of what happens on our missions for many reasons -- some I agree with and some I don't -- but ultimately it's for the public's safety and best interest. If people knew even _half_ the shit that went on in this universe, they'd probably curl up in a little ball and hide for the rest of their lives. 

But recently the newspapers have resorted to half-truths, exaggerated details and out-right lies in the pursuit of a "good story." And it's not just the JLA as a team anymore. They've been attacking all of us individually as well, writing things that are just patently untrue. I'm pretty sure the public at large knows better; they know to take everything they read in the tabloids with a grain of salt the size of Montana, but that still doesn't give these people the right to lambaste us at every turn! 

When I took the mantle of Green Lantern, I knew there would be some questioning, some concern and even some animosity. I expected a bit of backlash from the public at large. Most folks knew Hal Jordan as one of the world's greatest heroes and that's a hard shadow to come out from under. I like to think that I've done a pretty good job of it. People are starting to treat me as a hero in my own right, instead of "Hal's Replacement." 

Then the papers have to go and print shit like this. I mean, seeing this in the National Enquirer or the Weekly World News is one thing, but this is the fucking New York POST! I just want to sit down and explain it to these people! Just because a guy changes his costume doesn't mean that he's changed his powers or changed his attitude! It's new threads, that's it! But no, according to the Post, I have now achieved this incredible (and "dangerous") new level of power. They're calling me "God-like"! They're saying that I can change the universe with a wave of my hand! 

They're calling me a threat. 

It's just a new outfit, people! Don't get your panties in a bunch over a change of costume! I have a hard enough time programming my goddamn VCR; changing the universe is not in my Dayplanner! 

The worst part is, I can tell it's starting to affect the public at large. They may not read this crap, but they see the headlines at every corner newsstand in the city. They see the **super-bold type** as they stand in line at the supermarket. And now I'm noticing the sideways glances, the strange half-smiles like they're all waiting for me to... I don't even know what! 

I understand why this stuff gets written about Batman. I mean, let's face it: he thrives on it! A large part of his effectiveness is that no one knows anything about him. It's like that bit from Usual Suspects: "The greatest trick The Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." He revels in the fact that half the population thinks that he's an Urban Legend. And because of that, the papers are left with nothing to write except lies, conjecture and suppositions. That works for him. 

But I pretty much go out of my way to be public! I stick around for the reporters and do the photo ops. I kiss the hands and shake the babies. I try to keep the public as informed as possible about what I'm doing. But none of that seems to matter. The papers still insist that I'm something I'm not. It seems like no matter how much I do, no matter how many photo ops and press conferences and interviews I do, they still continue to second guess my motives and lie about my life! It's like there's nothing I can do to convince or please them! 

Huh. Ok, so as Green Lantern, hero at large, there's nothing I can do.

But as Kyle Rayner, published cartoonist...

Maybe it's time for a little taste of their own medicine. 

***

Lois's laughter filled the apartment. Clark looked over the top of his Wall Street Journal at his wife, her head over a magazine she had laid out on the breakfast table. 

"What's so funny?" he asked with a warm smile.

"Rayner," she replied. "He's at it again. Man, I don't know what the Post did to piss him off, but it's made for some great strips."

Lois passed the "Glitz" magazine over to Clark, opened to one of the pages near the back. The bottom half of the page was filled with a 2-line, 6-panel comic strip called "Glitzy Life." Even if Lois had said nothing about who wrote it, Clark knew it was Kyle's strip. He had long suspected that "Glitzy Life" was 90% of the reason Lois even bothered getting the magazine in the first place. 

The first panel showed two men, one obviously a photographer and the other looked like a producer or director of some kind. Both men were looking off to the left hand side of the panel, the photographer smirking and the producer-type with a look of shock on his face. A giant, grotesquely written "Blech!" filled the top left corner of the panel. 

The second panel had the two men looking at each other. The producer-type asked: 'What is she doing?!" and the photographer replied: "She said she wanted to lose 5 pounds before the shoot." 

In the third panel, a gorgeous female model walked past the two men, one hand thrusting what looked like a newspaper to the photographer and the other hand wiping her mouth. 

The fourth panel showed the photographer handing the paper to the producer as he walked off following the model. The word balloon over the departing photographer read: "Works every time."

The producer stood alone in the fifth panel, holding the paper and reading it with a quizzical look on his face. "The New York Post? I don't get it. What so bad abou..."

The strip concluded with the producer, very obviously running off to the left, his cheeks puffed out and his hand over his mouth. 

Clark chuckled, then tried to disguise it with a cough. It was a funny strip, but somewhat inappropriate. And certainly inappropriate for _Superman _to laugh at. Lois, Oh she of the knowing smirk and cocked eyebrow, knew better. She knew Clark just wanted to let loose and fill the room with peals of laughter, but his insane notions of "appropriate and inappropriate humor" wouldn't allow for it. She snatched the magazine back from him and continued to flip through the end of the magazine. 

Clark sat in silence, his head slightly down in concentration.

"Don't" Lois's voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Hmm?" Clark questioned, now broken from his thoughts. He glanced up at her. 

"I said: Don't"

"Don't what, dear." 

"Don't 'have a little talk' with Kyle."

Clark shook his head slightly, staring at his wife in confusion. Had he said that out loud? Had he actually spoken that phrase without realizing it? 

"You're thinking too loud again, Smallville," Lois said with another customary smirk. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Kyle has gone too far. You're thinking that someone needs to say something to him about it. And, you're thinking that instead of talking to him as one 'normal' human being to another, you would stand in front of him with that big red 'S' on your chest and tell him that 'heroes should be above all of this pettiness.' "

"Well, tthhhhhbbbbttt! on that!" Lois continued, adding the raspberry for greater effect. "He's smarting from the treatment the POST has been giving Green Lantern and he's taking this opportunity to strike back. Is it petty? Yes! Is it fair? Probably not! Is it funny? Hell, yes! Leave it alone and let the boy do his job!"

Clark just stared at his wife across the breakfast table, too dumbfounded by her little outburst to speak. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at her, then he relaxed as he noticed that look. That all too familiar look on his darling wife's face. That "C'mon-Smallville! Plead-your-side-of-the-case-to-me! I-dare-you!" look that Clark had seen too many times in their relationship. He knew she was fired up. He knew she was wired and ready for a few rounds of good-natured bantering. 

Clark simply slipped into a smirk of his own, wiped his mouth with his napkin and slowly stood, coming around behind Lois in her chair and kneeling behind her. He leaned forward, resting his chin on her shoulder so that they were cheek to cheek. 

"Actually, I wasn't thinking that at all." His smirk widened to a grin that his wife couldn't see, but could feel pressing against her cheek.

"Oh no?" She replied, sighing softly as his large arms wrapped around her lovingly. 

"No," he answered, giving her a light hug. "Actually, I was thinking how lucky I am to have such a lovely, talented, opinionated, strong-willed woman in my life." He punctuated the sentence with a small, soft kiss at the corner of her jaw line, just below the earlobe.

"Ooo. Nice recovery, Smallville." Lois chuckled, then sighed again as he moved down her neck and placed another soft kiss against her tingling skin. 

"Why, Mistah Kent," Lois drawled, adopting her best Scarlet O'Hara. "Ah do believe you are tryin' to seduce me..."

Clark moaned a soft chuckle, sending another shiver across her skin, as his expert fingers began sliding the silken robe from her shoulder.

***

"Hello?"

"Hey J'onn"

"Hey, Arthur. What's going on?"

"Well, I'm sitting Monitor Duty and I just got a call from Clark..."

"Lemme guess. We need to reschedule the meeting this week."

"Yup. Bruce's big shindig is this Friday..."

"Arthur, I'd hardly call the Wayne Foundation League of Nations Charity Event a 'Bruce Shindig'."

"Hey, it's got the Wayne name on it. It's a Bruce Shindig. Besides, I'm willing to bet that he purposefully plans these damn things on Fridays just to screw with our meeting schedules..."

"C'mon Arthur. This is a joint charity event between the Wayne Foundation and the League of Nations. I seriously doubt Bruce has any say so whatsoever about when it actually occurs."

"If you say so. Anyway, Diana and I have to be there on behalf of our respective Nations, Bruce (obviously) has to be there and now apparently Clark is going to have to cover it for the Planet. So considering half the League will be out..."

"No point in trying to have the meeting. That's fine. I'll call the others and let them know were pushing it back to Saturday. Oh, speaking of which: you know the boys are still pissed at you, right?"

"Pissed at me? Why?"

"Why?! Because you cheated them out of their money at the poker game, that's why!"

"Cheated?! What do you mean 'cheated'?!"

"We told you at the beginning. There's a strict 'No Powers' rule regarding the poker games!"

"Hey, my aquatic telepathy isn't really a 'power'. It's just a gift. Besides, I can't help it if Kyle's goldfish are chatty."

"Yeah, 'chatty' my green Martian butt."

"Besides, I gave all the money back."

"Wrapped in seaweed and floating in each of our toilets! I'm still not sure I want to know how you did that one! Kyle still insists that it's like that whole 'snakes climbing up the sewer pipes and into your toilet' thing..."

"Hey, c'mon J'onn. That's just an Urban Legend."

"Yeah, well, so is the Batman."

Both men chuckled.

"Ok, Arthur. I'll call the boys and let 'em know about the meeting. Have fun at the Charity Event."

"Yeah, right. A room full of politicians, businessmen, gossip-hounds, and the "cultural elite" of Gotham City, combined with Bruce in Fop mode, Clark as the Nerdy Reporter and The Princess being all regal. I'm sure I'll have a blast..."

***

There were many things about the "surface world" that Arthur could never quite understand. Particularly, there were many English phrases or cliches that, hard as he tried, he just couldn't quite grasp their meaning. Two of the more vexing of these phrases, coming from someone who lives 4 miles under the ocean, were "in over your head" and "out of your depth". 

Every once in a while, however, something would happen while he was on the surface that would help put a particular turn of phrase in perspective. That Friday, at the Wayne Foundation League of Nations Charity Event, Arthur was finally beginning to understand the meaning of those two particular phrases. 

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am... Who?"

"Sebastian!" Gladys Ashton-Larraby reiterated, looking at the King of the Seven Seas as if she fully expected him to know who she was talking about. 

"Uh, no. I don't believe I know any crab named 'Sebastian'..." Arthur replied, still smiling the best that he could. "However, there are literally millions of miles of undersea area and billions of undersea creatures, so there are places I still have not been and creatures I have still never met," Arthur lied. He had been to every square inch of his undersea realm during his lifetime, but he found that the "It's too big for any one person..." excuse usually worked wonders in instances like this. Almost immediately, however, he recognized the error of applying "normal instances" against the upper-crust whirlwind known as Gladys Ashton-Larraby. 

"But, you are the ruler of the entire undersea kingdom, are you not?" she probed, as her unbelievably inebriated husband appeared to be more interested in Arthur's harpoon hand than the actual conversation. 

"Yes, ma'am" Arthur replied questioningly. 

"Do you mean that you are a King who does not know his entire Kingdom? How can you make laws and regulations over areas that you know nothing about?" She wasn't condescending or accusatory, simply curious. Fascinated, more like it. She stared at him, a wide smile on her face as he attempted to work his way out of his own lie. 

"W-well, there are local constables in every section that report to me directly," Arthur offered, hoping that to be sufficient. It seemed to be, as her eyes started to glaze a bit at the word "constables". "It is not unlike this League of Nations. Very similar..." he desperately attempted to change the subject.

She leaned in, undeterred. "So, Your Majesty, is it true?" She glanced around conspiratorially while he simply stared at her in confusion. She leaned in even farther, Arthur suddenly keenly aware that her dress was seemingly failing in its job of trying to keep her more-than-ample bosom from tumbling out. "Can you really talk to the fish?"

Arthur leaned back a bit, partly in exasperation on receiving the all too common question and partly for self-preservation. If that dress finally gave way, he wanted to be as for from the impending explosion of flesh as possible. "Uh... Yes. It is true."

She leaned back, her bosom safely tucking itself back into the normal confines of the already-strained dress. She was beaming, her whole face contorted into a surprised and fascinated smile. "So... what do they say!?" 

Arthur's brow furrowed and his mouth opened to respond, but suddenly no words came out. He was flabbergasted at the question, unsure of how to even begin a response. 

"King Orin!" came the call, rescuing him from the bowels of, quite easily, the strangest conversation he had ever been involved in. He turned to see who had addressed him and he let out a small sigh of relief as a bespectacled man approached, notepad and pen in hand. The reporter approached the trio. "King Orin, I was hoping I could get that interview you promised earlier."

"Yes!" Arthur replied, almost too eagerly, then clamed a bit. "Yes, of course." He turned to the couple in front of him. "This is Mr. Kent from the Daily Planet. Mr. Kent, allow me to introduce Mr. And Mrs. Larraby..."

"_Ashton_-Larraby, dear" Gladys corrected with a bit too much emphasis as she smiled and shook Clark's hand. She nudged Randolph slightly, breaking him from his drunken stupor long enough for him to instinctively pop his hand out to shake Clark's. 

"Yes, sorry," Arthur corrected himself. "I had agreed earlier this evening to do an exclusive interview with Mr. Kent here, so if you two could please excuse me..."

"Of course, Dear," Gladys gushed. "Believe me, we know all too well about dealing with the... _press_." Clark was amazed with how much venom and spite one woman could put into one word and still pass as socially polite. Thankfully (for him, anyway) she returned her attention to Arthur. She reached up, gently touching his upper arm, unable to prevent the slight gasp from escaping her lips upon feeling the powerful muscle under his tuxedo jacket. 

"Anyway, Your Majesty, you simply _must_ come and find us before you leave tonight. There is so much more I'd like to hear about..."

"Of course," Arthur lied, "I will. Thank you both very much." 

Arthur realized to some degree of horror that, had it been socially acceptable, Mrs. _Ashton_-Larraby would most likely have pinched his cheek before dragging her stumbling husband away and into the crowd. 

Arthur and Clark moved to a relatively remote corner of the room, Clark continually scribbling doodles on his pad, keeping up the appearance of an interview. 

"Thanks, Clark," Arthur sighed, "Dear Poseidon, I thought that woman would be the death of me."

Clark chuckled. "Don't thank me, Arthur. Thank Bruce. He saw that you were cornered by that couple and sent me to rescue you." 

Arthur looked around the gathered partygoers. "Where is our esteemed host, anyway?" 

"Hmm. I don't know," Clark replied. "The last I saw him, he was pontificating to Mayor Dickerson about the differences in various squash rackets."

"Ah, so 'Fop Mode' is wholeheartedly engaged, I take it?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Hey, speaking of Bruce," Arthur probed, "Is his date really who I think it is?" 

Clark looked at Arthur over the rim of his glasses, a condescending look in his eyes. "Arthur, this is neither the time nor the place..."

"So it is her!" Arthur beamed, before letting out an elongated "Wow!"

"Arthur!" 

"What?! You can't tell me you're not the least bit curious about that..."

"Actually, Bruce's private life is just that: Private."

"Yeah, but considering who he is and who she is..."

"Arthur, drop it." 

They both remained silent for a few minutes, both scanning the crowd. Finally, Arthur leaned over and half-whispered "So, do you think they know!?"

"Arthur," Clark chided in a harsh whisper, unable to hide his own grin even as he did so. 

"Hey, I'm just saying! I mean, if they don't, it's like a giant Shakespearean Farce just waiting to happen!"

Clark chuckled, trying again (unsuccessfully) to cover it with a cough. He tried desperately to keep his laughter contained as Arthur continued. 

"Seriously! I mean think about it. What if _he_ knows and _she_ doesn't! Or visa-versa..."

"They both know." The steady, monotone voice behind them jerked both of the two heroes upright. They immediately turned and found a young waiter, one hand behind his back the other holding aloft a tray of filled champagne flutes. 

"Champagne?" the waiter offered as both Clark and Arthur stared at him, then at each other, then back to the waiter. After a second or two of completely stunned silence, Clark was the first to regain his composure long enough to speak.

"Excuse me? Wh-what did you say?"

"Would either of you two care for some champagne?" the waiter offered in explanation. 

"No, no" Arthur interrupted. "Before that. When you first came up behind us. What did you say?"

"Oh, that," the waiter confirmed. "I said 'They both know'."

Clark assumed his own version of the BatStare. "_They_ both know _what_, exactly"

"He knows that she's Catwoman and she knows that he's Batman," the young man stated matter-of-factly. 

Clark and Arthur both immediately looked at each other, each one making sure that the other had heard exactly what he had. Simultaneously, they did a double, then triple, then quadruple take at the waiter, who simply stood there smiling, glancing around the room looking for other patrons who's glasses were in need of refilling. As Clark stared intently at the young waiter, Arthur dropped his eyes slowly, his face relaxing in recognition. He sent a mental message he knew the waiter would receive.

::J'onn! You scared the shit out of us!::

::Heh heh heh::

::Okay, you'd better confess to Clark. He looks like he's about to have an aneurysm::

Clark stood, still staring intently at the waiter, sweat collecting on his brow. J'onn opened the telepathic link to Clark and chuckled in his head. ::Gotcha, Flyboy!::

Clark's eyes widened, then his entire face relaxed. He figured a Daily Planet reporter punching a waiter at a charity event wouldn't be a good idea. He mentally reminded himself of Perry's first rule of journalism: "Report the Story, Do Not _Become_ the Story!"

After a few minutes (in which Clark collected himself, even chuckling a bit at the ruse) the three men continued the conversation orally. 

"How long has it been going on?" Clark asked J'onn, who seemed to be more "in the know" than anyone else at the moment. 

"Best I can gather, a couple of months."

"Why now?" Arthur voiced his main question. "I mean, we've all hinted at it for years. We've all kidded him -- to no avail, I might add -- for years about their supposed relationship. So why now, after all this time, have they actually gotten together?"

"Who knows for sure," J'onn offered. "I first started noticing it just after... Hmm..."

"What?" Arthur prompted.

"I didn't even think of that before. I first became aware of it just after Cat-Tails closed..."

"Wait," Clark interjected, "you 'first became aware of it'? What does that mean? And how is it that you know so much about it?"

J'onn smirked in that way that only J'onn could. "Clark, stop asking questions you really don't want the answers for..."

Arthur and J'onn chuckled. Clark did not look very amused. J'onn decided to shift the conversation a bit out of the dangerous territory. "Look, it doesn't really matter how or why at this point. It just is. It is a reality. The question now is: what, if anything, do we need to do about it?"


	5. Revelations

The next day, the three men -- Superman, Aquaman and the Martian Manhunter -- stood in very similar positions in the JLA meeting room on the Watchtower. They had agreed to meet a half hour before the regular meeting to discuss what was rapidly becoming known as "The Selina Situation." 

"As far as I'm concerned," Clark noted, "We do nothing about it. It's his personal life and his concern. I really don't see how this involves us."

"Of course you don't," Arthur said, "You and he are the two with more to hide from something like this. The truth is, though, it concerns us considering her... history. Relationship or not, she's still a criminal. And that puts me on edge..."

"I'm afraid that you wouldn't be the only one, either," J'onn added. 

Superman cut in worriedly. "What do you mean, J'onn. You're not planning on telling the rest of the League are you?"

"Of course not, Clark. But if something happens and the rest of the League is put in danger because of it..."

"It's the Protocols thing all over again," Arthur finished. 

"Why on earth would that happen?" Clark asked, mostly playing Devil's Advocate at that point. "How could their failed personal relationship affect the other Leaguers?"

"Well," J'onn explained "at this point we don't know the real story behind all of this. She could just be using him. He could just be using her."

"Hades, they could both be using each other!" Arthur added. 

J'onn continued his explanation. "So, she could be using him to try and gain access to any or all of us. Or, if Bruce is using her, once it's over and he... 'dumps' her, she could lash out and strike back at him and at us in the process..."

"Ok," Clark conceded, "I see your point. But that still doesn't give us the right to tell everyone else Bruce's personal business. 

"No one is suggesting that we do," J'onn offered. "But maybe we need to put a few contingencies in place..."

"Poseidon," Arthur grumbled. "Haven't we all learned our lesson yet? All this 'contingency planning' and inner-circle secrets crap is just making things worse and worse. Have either of you ever thought about just talking to him about it?!"

Both J'onn and Superman turned and looked at each other, then slowly back to Arthur. J'onn spoke first. "You mean, ask him to come clean to the rest of the League himself?"

"Or just ask him what's going on!" Arthur responded. "If he can prove to us that his... relationship with Catwoman is not something that could affect the League, then we can drop it and move on."

The three men looked at each other for a few minutes, each pondering the suggestion Arthur made. 

"Well, I suppose it's worth a shot..." J'onn offered. 

"All I'm saying here is that the behind-the-back shit hasn't been working too well for us, so why not just take the direct approach," reasoned Arthur. 

"Ok, then," J'onn decided "let's plan on taking him aside after the meeting today and just asking him about it." 

Clark's brow furrowed slightly. "All three of us?"

"Sure, why not. All three of us tend to have a slightly different perspective. Between the three of us, one of us should be able to get _something_ out of him..."

"Ok, let me see if I understand this," Clark said, slowly "You want the three of us to have an... intervention... with _Batman_."

Both J'onn and Arthur nodded. Superman slowly massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

"Yeah. This can't end well..."

***

The weekly JLA meeting was a pretty typical one. Discussions of the week's events, monitor duty schedules (complete with Arthur's usual disgruntlement with the amount of "shift-swapping" going on) and possible upcoming threats filled the better part of an hour. Superman decided to wind the meeting down.

"Ok, so no meeting next week. With the Thanksgiving Holiday coming up this Thursday for most of us, there's really no point. So we'll plan on getting together again the first Friday in December. So if there's nothing else..."

"Actually," Eel interrupted "There is _one_ more thing..." His hands came up from under the table and set down a small pile of pens and strips of paper. His fingers stretched out across the table, delivering a pen and a piece of paper to each of the League members while the top of his head morphed into a giant Santa hat. "It's that time of year again!" 

A collective groan erupted around the table. Eel adopted as stern a look as his rubbery face would allow. "Oh, c'mon guys! It's Secret Santa time!!" The stern look disappeared behind a giant smile, the edges of his mouth stretching up and touching the rim of the hat. 

Clark sat and immediately began writing his name on the paper in front of him. The others slowly did likewise, several grumbling as they did so. Eel morphed his right hand into a giant rubbery sack, then slowly moved it around the table, each Leaguer dropping their piece of paper in. Once they were all collected, the top of the bag closed and Eel shook his hand up and down, shuffling the papers as he went through the normal "ritual".

"Ok, you all know the rules: One name per person. If you draw your own name, you can put it back. Other than that, who you draw is who you have to get a present for. One present only. Can be bought, made or 'handed-down' and can be serious or funny. Up to you. Any purchased presents have a price cap of $100. We'll exchange presents at the JLA Christmas Party. No trading names! And no telling! A Secret Santa isn't a secret if you blab it to the world..."

He finished shaking the bag-hand and stretched it over to Wally. Wally drew a name, looked at it and nodded to Eel. The bag-hand moved on. Everyone sat in silence as the bag made it's way around the table. Kyle was next and unlike many of the others, he seemed to be second only to Eel in his excitement over the drawing. He eagerly shoved his hand in the bag and drew out a slip of paper. He opened it and his shoulders immediately slumped. He suddenly leaned over and began banging his head on the table, muttering the word "fuck" over and over. Several of the others chuckled at Kyle's reaction, then laughed outright as Arthur joked "See? This is why he sucks at poker!" 

The bag moved on to Diana. She drew a slip, looked at it and blanched. "Um... no." She started to reach up and put her paper back, but Eel quickly sealed the top of the bag and pulled it away, turning a questioning eye at her. "Is it your own name, Wondy?" 

She stared at Eel for a moment, then replied "No."

"Then tough noodles! That's your name!" Eel harrumphed, moving the bag over to Superman and opening it back up. Clark reached in and pulled a slip out, looked at it, then folded it up. The bag moved on to Batman. He stared at Eel for a second, then reached in and drew out a name. Unsurprisingly, his face didn't change at all as he looked at the name, then nodded to Eel. J'onn and Arthur both drew their names and nodded. Eel pulled the bag-hand back to himself, morphing it back into his normal hand, now with one piece of folded paper resting in his palm. He opened and read it, then balled the paper up and swallowed it. 

"That's it!" Plaz announced. "We all have our names! Happy shopping!!" 

Everyone turned their attention back to Superman except Kyle, who continued banging his head on the table. Wally reached over and patted him on the back, then turned to the others, a wicked grin on his face. "Hey, whoever has Kyle's name, he should be easy to shop for this year." Kyle stopped his pounding and turned his head sideways, looking up at Wally in confusion. "A lifetime subscription to the New York Post would be perfect!"

Kyle sat straight up and punched Wally in the shoulder. "You dick."

Diana suddenly spoke up. "Actually, that does bring up something I wanted to discuss with you, Kyle. Your strips have been pretty inappropriate as of late. I understand you may be a little upset with the Post at the moment, but..."

Kyle immediately went on the defensive. "_Inappropriate_?!! On the contrary, I think they have been right on the money! Have you _seen_ what they've been writing about me!! Outright LIES!!"

Hearing the condemnation from Diana's mouth, Clark realized that Lois had been right all along. Ultimately, it was Kyle's business. In fact, it was no different than exactly what he had been saying to J'onn and Arthur regarding Bruce and the Selina Situation. He decided to intercede before things escalated. 

"Hold on, you two. Regardless of the appropriateness of Kyle's comic strips, he does bring up a good point. We've all been noticing the recent trend in the press regarding those of us in the 'hero community'. Let's face it, the press has always written whatever they wanted to about us, but it seems like it has been getting more and more 'out of hand' in recent months."

"So?" came the voice of descent, as usual from Arthur's chair. 

"So?" Superman mimicked. "What do you mean 'So?'." 

"Who cares what they say in the press? We do our jobs and protect this planet and its people, what does it matter if some stupid journalist slants the story in his favor? We're not in this for the accolades... at least we shouldn't be, I don't really care what the public at large thinks about me or the League, as long as they understand that our sole purpose is their safety and the safety of our planet."

"That may be, Arthur," Diana countered, "but there are some things -- and pardon my saying so -- that you just don't understand living in Atlantis. The treatment of us by the press may mean nothing to you, but to those of us who live in American Society nowadays have to deal with the ramifications of what is said about us in the press..."

Arthur and Diana continued to discuss the issue, battling back and forth as had become more and more frequent recently. J'onn, like many of the others, basically tuned them out as they 'discussed' the issue. He suddenly felt someone trying to contact him via the telepathic link. He opened the link and was surprised immediately by the voice. 

::How long are we going to let them do this?::

It was Batman! Batman, who never liked using the telepathic link in the first place. Batman, who sat stoically through the many discussions like this in the past without saying a word. Without even thinking about it, J'onn turned his head slightly and looked over at the cowled man beside him. He was as still and stoic as ever, fingers steepled under his nose, seemingly intent on the conversation. The voice invaded J'onn's head again.

::Eyes front, soldier! We don't want the others to realize what's going on here. Act natural and pretend you're listening. I know you can do it. You and Arthur do it all the time during my briefings::

J'onn was completely stunned, but still managed to shift his attention straight forward again without raising suspicion. Finally, he responded.

::Me and Arthur? How do you know about that?!::

The pointed silence in his head was answer enough. Of course he knew. He's Batman. J'onn chuckled mentally and then returned to the original question. 

::Uh, well... They both have valid points that should be addressed here...::

::No, I mean how long are we going to let these two bicker like school children in our meetings because of what happened between them:: 

::Wha-what do you mean, Batman?::

::Let's not bullshit each other here, J'onn. Ok, fine. They had an affair, but now they're letting their personal lives interfere with League business. I think it's time we put a stop to that.::

J'onn couldn't believe what he was hearing. Batman -- ol' Dark, Broody and Independent himself! -- was... well, gossiping in his head! At least, it was as close to gossiping that Batman got, J'onn supposed. What was going on here?!

::A-and how do you propose we do that?::

::I have no idea. But they either need to get on with it and make up or come to an agreement and end it once and for all! Either way, I don't really care, but if I have to sit through one more of these damn 'lover's spats' disguised as genuine discussion, I'm gonna punch one or both of them!::

J'onn did what could best be described as a mental sputter. He had no idea what had gotten into Bruce that afternoon, but it was getting increasingly more difficult to appear completely nonchalant with Batman ranting off in his head. Thankfully, Superman cut into the discussion (as usual) to stop Diana and Arthur before it went too far. J'onn immediately terminated the telepathic link and returned his attention to Superman. 

"Ok, Diana does have a point here. Any ideas on how to handle this?"

"Actually," Diana answered "I have a few ideas. I have some friends and contacts that may be able to help..."

"Wait," Kyle interjected, discreetly shoving the wad of cash he had just won off of Wally into his pocket. "What do you mean 'friends and contacts'?"

"Well, a few people in Washington that are used to handling things like this..."

"Whoa!" Eel interrupted, "Are you talking about a... spin doctor?!"

"Well, I wouldn't use those terms but... a PR agent of some kind." Diana admitted. 

The whole table exploded into loud animated discussion, at the center of which was Diana, arguing louder than all of the others combined. Finally, Batman slammed his hand down on the table, silencing the entire room. "Look, Wonder Woman's ideas have _some_ amount of merit. I can't say I'd agree to a full-on Public Relations Director for the League, but at the very least, we can entertain a few ideas. Diana, set up a meeting for you, me and Superman with a few of your choices and we'll see what we can come up with."

The entire room stared at Batman in stunned silence. He slowly looked around the table at each of them before resting his gaze on Diana. "Can you do that?"

"S-sure," Diana stated, her eyes still locked onto him. 

"Good," Batman replied, "then let's call this meeting over. Most of us have other things to do today..." 

The others around the table slowly started to stand, many still not taking their eyes off of Batman. Batman stood and prepared to leave, but Superman was suddenly beside him. 

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, Batman?" 

J'onn and Arthur stood and came over to join the discussion, J'onn keeping an eye on the doorway. Eel, Wally and Kyle walked out, tittering like a sewing circle and Diana was right behind them, a significantly superior look on her face. Once the others were safely teleported off the Watchtower, J'onn rejoined the discussion. 

Batman was in mind sentence: "... and altogether not a terrible idea." Batman paused to look at the doorway, verifying that the others had left before continuing. "Besides, it got her to shut up, didn't it?" 

The three other men in the discussion stared in shocked silence at Batman. Specifically at the corner of his mouth, which appeared to be spasming in a most peculiar way. They all traded confused glances before turning their attention back to Batman and his twitching lip. 

"What?!" Arthur was the first to ask.

"You ALL know that if something wasn't done, she would have continued to rant and rave until we finally conceded just to make her stop. I just gave her a possible out-road to end the discussion. The arguing would have gotten us nowhere. So I figured: Humor her and handle it..." 

"So you don't even plan to follow up on your own suggestion?!" Clark asked.

"Oh no, we'll meet with who she brings us. We'll sit there, smile politely and nod our heads, then show them all the door. Who knows, one or two of them may have a valid idea or two."

The other three traded glances, then Superman and J'onn both turned their attention back to Batman. Arthur took a slight step back, his harpoon arm raising slightly as if preparing to strike out. He narrowed his eyes slightly, studying Batman for an instant before speaking. 

"Ok, who the fuck are you and what have you done with Batman?"

Batman's face slowly shifted into the familiar BatScowl. Superman and J'onn both turned to Arthur and said, in unison, "It's him."

"Of course it's me," Batman growled disgustedly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you've been acting kind of strangely all afternoon, Bruce," J'onn offered in explanation. "We just weren't sure."

"What do you mean by 'strangely'?" Bruce asked, becoming a little wary himself.

"Just some of the things you've said, and how you've said them," Superman explained. "I mean, 'Humor her and handle it'? It's just very... uncharacteristic of Batman..."

"What? A man isn't allowed to be in a good mood?" the twitching returned.

"Not when his name starts with a 'B' and rhymes with 'atman'!" Arthur put in.

J'onn picked it up from there. "I think what Arthur is trying to say is that we've just never seen you like this before. I think you can understand our wariness."

Batman glanced around at the trio. "I suppose it's understandable. I just figured I'd have a little leeway, considering the date..."

"What?" Superman asked, mentally verifying that it wasn't January already. Batman just gave each of them the 'you know what I'm talking about' look, then turned toward the door. 

"I didn't intend to put everyone on edge. Not to worry, I suppose I'll be back to my normal broody self in a few days. So if there's nothing else," Batman added, already heading for the door.  

"Actually," Superman said, stopping Batman in his tracks. "There is something else we need to discuss."

Batman turned to face the trio again. "Oh?"

"Yes," J'onn agreed. "There's something we need to ask you about..."

Batman waited, watching as J'onn and Superman traded 'you-go-first' looks back and forth. Arthur finally shook his head then looked directly at Batman. "We want to know what's going on between you and Selina Kyle." 

Batman's face suddenly darkened. "Oh. Well, quite honestly, Arthur, that's none of your damn business."

"Actually," Superman cut in, "it partially is. The fact that Bruce Wayne is dating Selina Kyle is not the problem. It's the fact that Batman is dating Catwoman that concerns us..."

Batman stared at Superman for a second, then finally spoke. "Awfully presumptuous, don't you think. The word 'dating' I mean..."

Superman and Arthur both looked to J'onn, who merely shrugged. The trio then turned back to Batman. 

"Besides," Batman continued, his tone returning to the familiar growl normally associated with the Cape and Cowl, "whatever my... business with Miss Kyle is, it does not and will not concern the League."

"It might," J'onn disagreed "and that's what we want to avoid..."

"How could it possibly affect any of you?" Batman asked with a sneer.

"She's a criminal!" Arthur growled back. "A criminal with a history of sneaking into this very facility, I might add. We just don't want your personal... '_business'_ to come back and bite all of us on the ass!"

"You know, Arthur," Batman stated flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have a lot of nerve talking to me about personal affairs affecting the League!"

A tense silence fell over the room, as Arthur and Batman traded dagger-stares. J'onn and Superman merely traded concerned looks until Superman finally stepped in. 

"Ok, hold on a minute," the Kryptonian intervened, "there's no need to turn this into a personal war. We merely wanted to voice our concern. Batman, we just want you to understand that we're a bit concerned about possible personal attacks stemming from... well, we don't want a reaction from your personal affairs affecting... we're..."

J'onn stepped forward, placing a hand on Superman's shoulder to stop him before he ended up with both of his shiny red boots in his mouth. "Look, Bruce, all we're saying here is that we have some concerns about the possible ramifications of this... 'business'... whatever its nature. Especially so soon after the Protocols Incident..."

Batman's shoulders tightened as he stared directly at J'onn. "So _that's_ what this is about? Everyone is still bent out of shape over the Protocols?!"

"No," J'onn said, trying to be as calm and reassuring as possible. "We've all gotten over that. Most of us anyway. But at the very least, you have to admit that something like this coming right on the heels of the Protocols Debacle doesn't exactly instill confidence in the others..."

"Let's get one thing straight," Batman growled, "I'm not here to instill confidence in anyone! I'm here to do the job and play my part in the League's business. If my method or my manner steps on a few toes... well, that's not my problem."

"Actually," Superman interjected, "it's really about _trust_. And right now, the level in trust between the members of the League is rapidly descending. It's not just about you, Bruce. There are others with similar issues right now. We've been trying our best to keep things together, but then things like this come up and it all starts to crumble again. We're not asking you to confess anything. We're not asking you to fill everyone in on the details of your personal life. We just need some reassurance that this isn't going to turn into another Protocols, because right now, that would pretty much destroy this team."

There was another long pause. Batman was strangely quiet as he appeared to be processing all that had been said. After a minute or so, Batman's shoulders and arms relaxed a bit. He slowly raised his hands, then lifted the cowl back off of his face. "Ok," Bruce stated calmly, "I give you my personal guarantee that my personal affairs will not interfere with the League in any way, shape or form. And if, by some reason, they do, I will take full responsibility and do whatever the three of you see fit. Even if it means resigning from the League."

The three men stared in shocked amazement. All three realized that they had just gotten not only Batman's word, but the word of Bruce Wayne as well. Superman stepped forward, took Bruce's hand and shook it. "Fair enough." J'onn and Arthur nodded their agreement. Bruce nodded back, then reached up and replaced the cowl. 

"Now, if you gentlemen will please excuse me, I have a certain Cat waiting for me..." Again, the trio stared in shock as the twitching lip on Batman's face, turned into a full-fledged grin. He turned and headed toward the door. He voice floated back at them as he exited. "You know, you three should really check your calendar." 

All three of them looked at each other, then simultaneously walked over to the command console in the meeting room. J'onn arrived first, bringing up the November schedule page on the monitor. J'onn pointed to a small icon flashing on the schedule for the current day. J'onn selected it and a small window popped up on the screen.

**Timelocked Appointment (Now Available):  
Saturday, November 21st**

The three stared at each other in confusion for a moment, then J'onn selected the note attached to the appointment. What popped up startled the three men for a second, then suddenly caused a round of surprised laugher. 

**Welcome to The Third Saturdays Club.  
-B**

***

Clark flew over Metropolis, his eyes scanning the bustling crowd below. The Friday after Thanksgiving: the busiest shopping day of the year and Metropolis seemed to be at the heart of it all. Millions of people, arms laden with bags and boxes full of presents for their families, friends and co-workers, hustled from sidewalk to sidewalk, from store to store. Even at close to midnight, the streets were still alive and moving, many of the stores holding "Midnight Madness" sales and the like. Superman couldn't help but smile as the definite spirit of the holiday season filled the air.

Suddenly, his super-hearing picked up a signal on a supersonic frequency. Jimmy's signal watch! Clark followed the signal, racing across town and zeroing in on the Daily Planet. He tracked the signal to the roof, landing quickly and scanning the rooftop under the giant globe. 

"Jimmy?" he called out. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," came the reply from the shadowed corner of the roof. The voice was familiar, but not the recently-post-adolescent chirping of his young red-headed friend. Clark turned to face the voice. "Batman?!"

"Hello, Clark." Batman's voice rumbled over the rooftop as he approached the Man of Steel. 

"Geez, Bruce! You scared the crap out of me! How did you... never mind. I don't want to know."

"Replicating Jimmy's signal watch signal was the easy part, Clark. Actually deciding to press the button tonight was the _real_ trick..."

Clark scanned Batman's stoic features, trying, in vain, to read his intention. "Bruce? What's going on?"

"Last weekend. You said it was a matter of trust."

"Wha-?" Superman paused, then remembered the conversation in the Watchtower. "Yes. Yes it is. And as I said, that trust appears to be slipping away rather rapidly."

Batman looked him right in the eye. "We have a decision to make."

***

"Are you sure about this?" 

J'onn looked to the two men standing before him, who both nodded in agreement. A brief silence filled the Watchtower conference room as Superman and Batman looked at each other. Batman spoke first. 

"I'm sure they can all handle taking a few minutes away from their busy shopping schedules for a quick meeting..."

"That's not what I meant, Bruce," J'onn said, a light smile crossing his face. 

"Yes," Superman confirmed. "We're sure."

J'onn nodded, then turned to the console and punched up the JLA communicator controls. He pressed a few buttons, sending a Priority Signal to the remote devices for the five other primary League members. "This is J'onn up at the Watchtower," he announced, "we need everyone in the conference room in five minutes." 

He closed the communicator control and walked silently over to his seat. Superman and Batman both took their seats as well. Each man sat deep in silent thought as the five minutes crawled by. 

The teleport tubes started flashing to life. In typical fashion, the others arrived. Wally and Kyle came through separate tubes almost simultaneously and immediately started chatting about the possible reasons behind this meeting. Plastic Man came through next, his arms stretched through the handles of about twenty shopping bags. Diana was next, walking silently into the conference room. The tubes flashed a final time as Arthur came through and entered the room. None of them were truly surprised to see the three men already seated. They all came in and took their seats. 

Wally was the first to speak up. "Ok, what blew up now?" 

"Nothing," Superman replied, standing and slowly walking around the room. "Let me start by apologizing for interrupting whatever holiday rituals you were engaging in today. I promise to be brief. But, there is something that we all need to discuss. Something that we felt couldn't wait any longer and something that Batman and I both feel is long overdue."

The entire table turned to look at Batman, who merely nodded in confirmation. The other leaguers traded confused glances between one another as Superman made his way around the table, continuing his speech.

"Each one of us at this table has made an oath. An oath to protect this planet and all its people. We have come together as a team to fight off any and all threats, alien and domestic, that threaten the freedoms and lives of the inhabitants of Earth, sometimes even without their knowledge. We put our lives, our faith and our _trust_ in one another, putting aside all differences and personal concerns for the sake of Truth and Justice. This League was founded out of necessity: a common enemy that threatened the entire planet that could only be defeated by the strongest heroes coming together. Since then, in all of its many incarnations, the Justice League, at it heart, has always been about teamwork."

"Any team, from a High School Football squad to a collection of the most powerful beings on the planet, must have a certain level of trust between its members in order to function effectively. Over the last few years, the eight of us have come together to accomplish the impossible. We have fought side by side and hand in hand against evils that were seemingly unbeatable and succeeded, mainly due to our ability to function as a team. And now we find ourselves in a situation where that trust is breaking down. Without that trust, we will surely fail as a team and when _we_ fail, it is the entire _planet_ suffers. That cannot happen, my friends. I will not allow that to happen. And neither should any of you."

"To that end, my friends and colleagues, we have asked you all here today in order to reestablish the trust and the teamwork that keeps this League together. We ask each of you to rededicate yourself to this League and to each other."

Batman stood, drawing everyone's attention. He looked slowly around the table, meeting each member's gaze with his own. He dropped his head slightly, raising his hands up and hooking his thumbs under the edge of the cowl. He paused for the briefest of moments, then pulled the cowl back off of his face. 

"My name is Bruce Wayne, businessman, industrialist and billionaire. And I am Batman."

The entire table gasped. The league members all looked at each other incredulously, no one believing what they were seeing. Kyle sputtered audibly. "B-br-Bruce Wayne is the Batman?!? Is this some kind of joke?!?"

"No," Diana spoke up. "He's telling the truth... though it is quite unexpected."

Bruce looked again to each of the Leaguers. "The time for secrets and lies is over. This is about full disclosure." 

During the reaction to Batman's revelation, Superman had quickly exited the room. At that moment, Clark Kent entered. 

"My name is Clark Kent. I am a reporter for the Daily Planet and husband to Lois Lane. And I am Superman."

"Clark Kent?!" Plastic Man gasped. "I read your column!!" Again, the excited and incredulous conversations started as Clark and Bruce both looked to J'onn. Clark leaned over to the Martian, a grin on his face. "Ok, J'onn. Pick one."

The rest of the table looked to J'onn with varying looks of confusion and surprise. J'onn stood and morphed into his most frequently used 'human' persona.

"I have many guises and appearances, but the most common is this one: John Jones, retired Colorado Police officer and current Detroit Private Investigator. My true identity," he continued, morphing into his true Martian form, "is J'onn J'onzz, Manhunter from Mars."

"My human name is Arthur Curry," Aquaman joined in, standing as well. "In my homeland, I am known as Orin. I am the King of Atlantis. And I am Aquaman."

"It is no surprise to any of you that I am Diana, Princess of Themyscira and Amazon ambassador. But I am also known as Diana Prince, school teacher from New York."

"What the hell," Wally muttered, standing. "Most of you already know this, but my name is Wally West. I am a police scientist from Central City and I am The Flash." 

"Kyle Rayner, Freelance Cartoonist."

All eyes turned to Plastic Man as he stood slowly, a sheepish look on his face. "Uh... Pass?"

Bruce grinned, looking at the man he had brought into the League. "I don't think so, Eel."

"Okay," Plaz replied, removing his goggles. "I was born Patrick O'Brien. My mother used to call me 'Eel' because I was skinny enough to slither into just about anywhere. I used to be a criminal. Nowadays, I'm a member of the Justice League." 

The entire table stared in surprise as a genuinely warm smile appeared on Eel's face. "And damn proud of it."


	6. Tis the season

Wally sat in the Monitor Womb chair, glancing over the multiple monitors of news, watching for any signs of global emergency. Ok, he _should_ have been doing that. Instead, his eyes were locked on Monitor 15, watching half-naked supermodels parade down a catwalk amidst a barrage of camera flashes. 

"God bless Victoria Secret," he muttered to himself for the fifth time in the last half an hour. Suddenly, a small flashing on the console tore his attention away from Tyra Banks strutting down the runway wearing an oh-so-revealing bra and panties number. Wally turned toward the console and, upon registering the flashing as the incoming teleport indicator, immediately began typing away at the console, returning Monitor 15 to its "standard" station. 

Monitor 15 had just flicked over to an interior shot of the US House of Representatives when the Monitor Womb door opened. Wally spun the chair around to greet... 

"Kyle! What are you...? Dude, you look like shit!"

"Gee, thanks buddy," Kyle retorted sarcastically, walking toward Wally. Kyle was in his 'civilian clothes', a completely disheveled turtleneck and jeans ensemble. His face appropriately matched his attire. "Man, you have no idea..."

"What the hell happened to you?" Wally got up and walked over to greet his friend. He tried (unsuccessfully) to hide the humor in his voice as he took in the "tornado-whipped" style of Kyle's outfit and general demeanor. 

"What happened?! I'll tell you what happened!! Macy's, Saks Fifth Avenue, The Gap and the Limited! THAT'S what happened!"

Wally sucked in through his teeth. "Ooo. Holiday Shopping, huh?" 

"Ya know, I thought I was all set! I had gifts for everyone on my list already. Jen, Mom, Alan, John, Guy, you and Linda... hell, I even had a present for Radu downstairs! I had everything bought, wrapped and ready by December 1st!"

"So what happened?"

"Plaz! That's what happened! Plaz and his goddamn... Secret Santa bullshit!"

Wally couldn't hide his laughter that time. He sputtered, then burst outright into laughter when he saw Kyle's distressed reaction. 

"You know what? Fuck you, Wally!" Kyle grumbled half-jokingly but still annoyed. "You have no idea the shit this one gift has put me through! I mean, how the hell am _I_ supposed to find a gift for B..."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Wally interrupted, still chuckling in spite of himself. "You're not supposed to tell me who you have! That's against the 'rules', remember?!"

"Oh, fuck the rules, Wal! I'm at the end of my friggin rope here!! I mean the idea of shopping for Batman was bad enough! But now I discover that shopping for Batman isn't just shopping for Batman, it's shopping for Bruce-Fuckin'-Wayne!! I'm finding myself mired in the old cliché of having to shop for the man who, quite literally, has _EVERYTHING_!!" 

"Okay, Kyle, take a breath," Wally attempted to calm his friend. "You'll figure something out."

"That's just it, Wal. I've wracked my brain for two weeks and I can't think of a single thing that doesn't come off as trite, stupid or... or... or... _beneath_ him! You've got to help me!"

"Hey, I've got my own person to shop for..."

"And there's no way in hell that your choice is harder than mine!" Kyle retorted. "I mean, really! Who do you have?"

Wally looked away, not really wanting admit the name on his little slip of paper. 

"What?" Kyle asked, noticing the suddenly nervous detachment of his friend. "What is it? Who do you have?"

"Uh... never mind that. About your present..."

"No! Don't change the subject! Who do you have?!"

Wally mumbled something under his breath. 

"What was that?" Kyle prompted, staring a hole into the side of Wally's head. 

"Uh... I said... 'Plaz' " Wally begrudgingly admitted.

"Plaz? PLAZ?!? You draw the easiest name in the bag and you're giving me grief about MY shopping woes?!?"

"Hey! He's not that easy..."

"Give me a friggin break, Wally! Every year he asks for the same thing and every year he gets the same thing! It's one of those understood things about the JLA Secret Santa thing: Plaz get Silly Putty!"

"Well, that's just it! I mean, it's the same thing, every year. Silly Putty for Plaz! Silly Putty for Plaz! I wanted to do something a little different this year..."

"Need I remind you," Kyle interrupted, "what happened two years ago when Queen B got him something _other_ than Silly Putty?! He spent the entire party moping around, dejected. He was miserable for a month! He wants Silly Putty, you get him Silly Putty! That's it! End of argument! You're job is already done!"

"I guess..." Wally admitted.

Kyle slowly shook his head and sighed in exasperation. "Jesus, Wal, I'm trying to come up with the world's most impossible gift and you're worried about Plaz..."

"Okay, fine," Wally relented. "Hey, what about a gag gift. I mean, that's part of the rules right? Can be serious or funny, real or gag. So just screw all the 'perfect gift' ideas and get him something funny."

Kyle just stared at his friend like the speedster had just grown a second head. "Are you out of your mind? This isn't Plaz we're talking about, this is _Batman_! The man doesn't have a sense of humor! I might as well be buying a pair of google-eye glasses for Sinestro, for godsakes!" 

"Oh c'mon, Kyle. It'd be funny as hell to get him a gag gift. Something he'd never buy for himself in a million years. Something he'd never get from anyone else. Something so inane and stupid and..." Wally trailed off, a mischievous smile creeping across his face.

"What?" Kyle's brow furrowed. "What? WHAT?! Dude, you're scarin' me! What the hell is that look for."

"I've got it. The perfect gag gift for Batman. He's a complete techno-junkie, right? All the little gadgets and gizmos. I've got the one perfect electronic gadget that he would never buy; he would never even admit to owning..." The smile widened. 

"WHAT?!" Kyle asked, exasperated.

Wally looked him right in the eye and began singing (and clapping) the jingle. "Clap on." *clap clap* "Clap off" *clap clap* "Clap on, Clap off... The Clapper!"

Kyle slowly covered his face with his hands, shaking his head slowly. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is it. Wally West, The Flash, The Fastest Man Alive has finally and completely gone **insane**."

"Oh c'mon," Wally chuckled. "Think about it! It'd be hilarious! Millionaire Playboy Bruce Wayne taking his most recent... conquest into the huge bedroom in stately Wayne Manor and then... " Wally raised his hands and clapped twice with the snobbiest golf-clap he could. 

Both men suddenly froze as every light, monitor and computer in the Monitor Womb suddenly went black. Confused tension filled the pitch black room as both men stood in complete silence. Kyle was the first to manage to speak.

"Uh... Wal?"

Wally double-clapped again and everything sprang back to life. Kyle and Wally simply stared at each other in complete shock and disbelief until...

"Damn, J'onn was right. You white boys are so easy to fuck with."

Both of their heads spun toward the door. Steel stood leaning back against the doorway, a small hidden control panel open right next to him. Kyle, still frazzled, stared a the metal-clad hero while Wally simply shook his head and started laughing. Steel closed the control panel, then headed over toward the monitor console. 

"Hey, Steel," Wally greeted through his chuckling. "What are you doing here?" 

"Well, Superman asked me to cover Monitor Duty for him. Had some 'Emergency Christmas Shopping' to do, or something."

"Ah. Cool," Wally replied. "I'll log out of the console and you can take over." He walked over to the console and began typing. Steel looked back over to Kyle, who was still standing there frozen, staring, back at where Steel had first been standing in the doorway. Steel tapped Wally's shoulder with the back of his hand, then pointed to Kyle. 

"What's with him?"

Wally looked back over his shoulder at the frozen Kyle, then chuckled. "GSO," he explained, "Gift Shopping Overload. He's a little overwrought. Kyle! KYLE!"

"Huh-what?" Kyle shook his head, coming out of his shopping-induced haze and turning toward Wally and Steel. "Oh. Uh... sorry."

"I never have that problem," Steel explained as he took over at the monitor, logging himself in. "I _make_ all my gifts, so there's no shopping and I never have to worry if the recipient 'already has one'..."

Kyle gasped, his face suddenly brightening. He ran over to Steel, wrapping his arms around the man and placing a noisy kiss on the top of the metal head. "Steel! You're a friggin' genius!" He let go of the now surprised Steel and ran out of the Monitor Womb at full speed. Wally watched him go, turned to Steel and shrugged, then zipped out of the room, following Kyle. 

After a stunned moment, Steel just shook his head, then returned to the console. 

"White boys."

***

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* 

"Huh, no answer. Well, they are busy this time of year."

Eel hung up the phone, then checked the number in the phone book in front of him again. Shrugging, he picked up the phone and dialed the number again. After one ring, the electronic female voice chirped through the phone. 

"Thank you for calling Best Buy. Happy Holidays! For Home Audio, press 1. For TV's VCR's and Camcorders, press 2..."

Eel listened through the menu, pressing the appropriate key when he heard what he wanted. "... For CD's, DVD's and Videos, Press 8... *beep* Thank you. Please wait while I transfer your call."

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* *Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* 

Sighing, Eel slumped back in his easy chair, listening to the lulling sound of the ringing phone line.

***

"So, are you guys having the 'Office Christmas Party' this weekend?"

Donna Troy sat on Diana's couch, sipping her tea. Diana was just finishing putting together a small tray of "finger food" in the kitchen. 

"If by 'Office Christmas Party' you mean the JLA Holiday party, then yes. It's this Friday." Diana replied, coming into the living room of her apartment and setting the tray down on the coffee table. She took a seat next to Donna on the couch, picking up her own tea.

"Friday?" Donna asked. "I thought that you guys usually did it on Saturday."

"Well, normally, yes. But Batman said that he had something that 'required his attention' on Saturday this year. He told us to go ahead without him, but you know Kal: he wouldn't hear of it. So we moved it to Friday."

"I see. Well, everyone invited, as usual?"

"Of course," Diana smiled. She loved her little chats with Donna. They were both so busy recently that they didn't get together often, so she cherished what little time they could spend together. "The party is open to anyone who 'puts on the cape' in the name of Justice."

"Great. I think most of the old Titans gang are planning on showing up. You know Roy and Gar: they never pass up the chance at free food," Donna laughed. 

"Wonderful! I heard Kal saying the other day that he thinks most of Young Justice will be there as well, so we should have a pretty full house."

"Well, let's face it: how often do most of us get the chance to be on the moon! I'm sure it'll be fun."

They both laughed, then quietly sipped their tea. 

"So," Donna finally broke the silence with a probing tone, "is Arthur going to be there?"

Diana sighed. She was hoping they could have avoided this conversation today. "Yes, Donna. I'm sure he will be." 

Donna picked up on her former idol's hesitation. "Oh please. Don't tell me you two still haven't worked things out?!"

"Donna, please. It's complicated..."

"Bullshit!"

"Donna! Language!"

"Sorry, Di, but it's true. It's only as 'complicated' as the two of you make it! Have you tried talking to him?"

"Yes," Diana admitted, sighing, "I have tried. Several times. It always seems to just... I don't know... go wrong. We both end up just yelling at each other."

"Okay, then what?" 

"What do you mean, 'then what'?" Diana responded. "We scream and yell, then one of us... usually _him_... storms out."

"So he's still a little upset," Donna concluded.

"Upset? No, it's more than that. I think he's completely through with me. He doesn't want anything to do with me anymore..."

"You know," Donna interrupted, "for someone who's the Champion of Truth, you can be so clueless sometimes!" 

"Excuse me?" Diana turned a scornful eye in her former pupil's direction. 

"Look, Di. If he really didn't care anymore, do you think he would bother yelling at you at all? If he was really completely fed up and done with you, don't you think he would just walk away or ignore you completely?"

"Donna," the Themysciran princess answered, her voice still full of the teacher's-condescension, "are you trying to use the 'he yells because he cares' excuse with _me_?! That's such a chauvinistic, bigoted, male-centric excuse that goes against everything you or I believe in..."

"That's not really what I'm saying, Di," Donna interrupted before Diana could really get on a roll. Crass and rude though the moniker was, Donna understood the impetus behind Wally and Garth's insistence on calling her mentor Princess Prattlehead. Diana had a tendency to be a bit long winded if you let her. Donna learned long ago exactly when to cut her off. "All I'm saying is: try to take a step back and look at this from a different perspective. Which would you prefer to be dealing with at this point: The Arthur who yells and screams at you or The Arthur who ignores you and won't talk to you at all?"

Diana paused, actually considering Donna's words. After a few moments, she spoke in a softer tone. "I suppose there is some validity to your claim. I must still affect him somewhat in order for him to continue have any kind of dialogue with me. It's just that... well... he's..." She started to get visibly frustrated. "Argh! He's just so... so... Pigheaded!!"

"Hellooo! Earth to Diana! Of course he's pigheaded," Donna explained, "He's a MAN!! He'll continue to BE pigheaded until he thinks that either he's won the argument or that the argument isn't worth having any more."

"So how do we get past this?" Diana wondered, not ready to really admit defeat. 

"First question," Donna stated, getting up to refill her tea, "is whether or not _you_ want to continue things with him. If not, then the whole point is moot."

Diana sat in silence again as Donna returned to the couch. "I suppose, at the very least, that I wish for the friendship to continue. He and I were friends before... all of this happened. The truth is, being with Arthur was nice. He was warm, friendly, compassionate... passionate. But I'm not sure if we can ever get to be that close again. I'm not sure if either of us want to, considering how quickly and... ferociously it went sour." Diana sighed, her mind travelling back to the good times she had shared with the man she considered one of the best loves she had ever experienced. "I just... I don't know... I want us to get past this... hump we've run into."

"Look," Donna soothingly offered, placing a caring hand on Diana's knee, "the trick is: don't let him get away with it anymore. You can't stop him from yelling by yelling back. Be calm. Be smooth. Be the rock that he obviously can't be right now. When he starts yelling, try to calm the situation down by being calm yourself. I've seen you do it hundreds of times in the field, this is really no different. Treat it like you would a hostage situation or a diplomatic confrontation. Diffuse the anger and talk respectfully and soothingly. King or no, he's still just a man. And men like to have their egos stroked every once in a while."

"I suppose..." Diana agreed weakly. 

"Get him something. Something that shows that you still care, that you are ready and willing to put the past behind you and move forward. A peace offering!"

"Well, I did draw his name for the Holiday Gift Exchange," Diana offered.

"There you go!" Donna smiled brightly, seeing the opportunity. "There's your opening. Get him something that says 'Let's let bygones be bygones and try to settle this once and for all."

Diana allowed a faint smile to cross her face as she turned and looked out the window. "A peace offering..."

***

"Thank you for calling Best Buy. Happy Holidays! For Home Audio, press 1. For TV's VCR's and Camcorders, press 2..."

Eel pressed the "1" key on his phone. Surprisingly, someone answered after just 3 rings. 

"Home Audio, this is Brent. How can I help you?"

"Yes, I was trying to find out if you had a particular DVD box set in stock..."

"Ah! You want the DVD section. Hang on, I'll transfer you."

"NO!" Eel shouted... too late. 

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* *Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring*

***

Batman crossed the rooftops carefully. He didn't like being away from his city too often, but occasionally, it was necessary. He had to take extra care and extra precautions when visiting another town, especially one as brightly lit and relatively low-to-the-ground as Los Angeles. 

But some things were worth it. How long had it been? How long had he and Clark known each other? How many times in the past few decades had they teamed up? And there was one thing that was constantly stuck in the back of both of their minds. Every time they teamed up, whether just the two of them or with the League in its many incarnations, this one thing always hung over their heads like a giant neon sign blinking the word "Failure!" over and over. 

And failure was not something Batman took lightly. Ever. 

***

Eel slammed the phone down on the cradle and screamed at his wall. He picked the phone back up, dialing the number - now memorized - and waited to hear the first syllable out of that damned automated female voice. He mashed the "0" button on his phone and held it down for a few seconds. 

After a few rings, a light, cheery voice answered the phone. "Thank you for calling Best Buy Customer Service. This is Becky, how may I direct your call?"

"Don't transfer me and don't hang up the phone!" Eel barked, frustration oozing across the phone line. "I've been trying to reach someone in your DVD section for half a goddamn hour now and I can't get through to anyone! I've been transferred, put on hold and hung up on now more times that I can fuckin' count and I'm sick and tired of it! All I want is a simple 'Yes' or goddamn 'No' and I can't even get THAT at his point!"

"Uh... O-okay sir. Let me get you a manager..." the bright and cheery voice had been replaced by a condescending and patronizing one. 

Eel sighed. "Fine."

For a second, the line went dead, then the now-familiar hold music began. Eel growled, then paused again as the line switched over to a ringing. 

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* 

At least now, he would get through to someone who he could complain to that would honestly DO something about it. 

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* 

Three different sales people and hundreds of rings and he still didn't have an answer to his **simple **question. He played over and over the complete tongue-lashing he would give the manager about the complete LACK of customer service at the store. Whatever happened to 'The Customer is Always Right'?!? Whatever happened to treating someone with simple common courtesy?! 

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* 

Whatever happened to picking up the GODDAMN TELEPHONE?!!?!

*Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring* *Rrrrrring* *Rrrrrrring*

***

Vulko entered Arthur's private chambers. "King Orin," the Second in Command announced, "The Kryptonian is here to see you, sir."

Arthur stood from his desk, leaving the stacks of decrees and possible legislation sitting in massive piles. He walked around in front of the desk as Vulko bowed, then stepped aside to let Superman enter. Arthur walked up, shaking the Man of Steel's hand and motioning to Vulko to let them alone. He simply smiled and rolled his eyes at Clark as Vulko bowed again and left the room. 

"He's only like that when company comes," Arthur joked, motioning toward the couch in his chambers. "When it's just me, he just strolls right in and starts talking. But when it's an 'outsider', he's all Pomp and Circumstance."

Both men chuckled as they sat. "So, Clark, what brings you to Atlantis?" 

Clark smiled that mid-west cornbread smile. "Well, Arthur, I was just coming down to make sure you were planning on attending Friday's festivities."

Arthur's smile faded a bit, then turned into a smirk. "So, you were elected as the one to check up on the 'Temperamental Monarch' this year?"

Clark shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, still keeping that warm smile on his face. "It's not like that, Arthur..."

"Cut the crap, Clark. Every year one of you comes down here to make sure I'm not being a party-pooper. Poseidon, I miss _one_ year, and ever since I'm branded as the inevitable no-show. I'll be there, Clark. What's the expression? Um... oh! 'With bells on'. Whatever that means."

Superman visibly relaxed. "I'm sorry Arthur. It's just that, well... we all know that you don't exactly celebrate Christmas down here..."

"Nor does Diana, if I remember correctly. Themyscira has its Winter Solstice celebration which is good enough reason for her." He paused, adding the mock-instructional tone that Garth always referred to as his 'professor voice'. 

"It's true, we don't celebrate the traditional surface winter season holidays. We don't really have seasons down here. Our 'seasons' are determined by migratory habits of the sea creatures. Most of the surface fish tend to migrate toward the Atlantis area during that time because it's warmer in the surface waters above Atlantis this time of year. We do have a mid-migration festival which is not unlike your holiday season."

He smiled again, returning to his normal voice. "So I, too, have reasons to attend a 'Holiday' party, Clark. Have no fear, I'll be there. If it makes you feel any better, I promise to be as brusque and ornery as always..."

Clark returned the smile. "We wouldn't have it any other way."

Both men stood, shaking hands again. Arthur cocked an eyebrow and looked toward his fellow Leaguer. "How long has it been since you've been down here?" 

Clark thought for a moment. "I don't know. A couple of years at least." 

"If you have some time, I'd be glad to show you around. You can see some of the advancements we've made in the last few years."

Superman clasped him on the shoulder. "I'd like that."

***

Out of all members of the Justice League, Plastic Man has long been recognized as the most "Christmas-y" of all. Always excited, always joyous, always giddy as a child. 

The other people standing in line with him at the checkout counter at Best Buy at that moment would find that a little hard to believe. He was a beaten man. A defeated man. He was the one thing he had always hated to see during the Holiday season: a grinch. 

He continually muttered under his breath to himself, shooting the errant wicked stare at anyone who made mention of it as he clutched his lone item to his chest. 

When the lady two people in front of him in line asked the cashier to hold on while she ran back to collect one more item, he scoffed. When it took her a whole 2 minutes to return, he sighed dramatically. When the guy in front of him tried to pay for $300 worth of electronics with an out-of-state check, he actually spouted a "Oh, COME ON!" loud enough to attract the attention of everyone standing in line at the registers. 

He finally got to the checkout counter, manned by a young guy who didn't look old enough to shave yet, and dropped his item on the counter. The boy behind the register looked at him with a glassy-eyed stare that would have looked more at home in a George Romero film than a retail shopping center. When it took the kid 3 tries to swipe his credit card only to realize that he had been swiping it _backwards_ in the machine, Eel leaned over and began banging his head on the counter. His purchase finally made, he got his bag and his receipt, and walked out past the manager who had come over to see what all the ruckus was about. The manager cast a wary eye at him, then perked up and offered an overly chipper "Merry Christmas, sir!"

"Christmas?" Eel growled, followed by the two words he never thought he would ever mutter in his life. 

"Bah, humbug!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	7. Party

These are the bravest and brightest people on the planet. Sometimes, it is supremely evident in all they do and all they are that these heroes are the pinnacle of human achievement. Fighting side by side with all of these heroic individuals has given me a glimpse into what drives a human being to greatness and what it takes for someone to put the safety and well being of the entire human race above their own life. Even in non-combat situations, I have seen these people perform in ways that would make an "ordinary citizen" run for shelter. Sometimes, merely being in their presence is enough to remind me why I am glad I adopted Earth as my new home when my Martian brethren fell. 

This is not one of those times. Chuckling, I remind myself that this party is the one chance for some of my friends to "let down their hair," so to speak. This is the one chance they have to relax, forget the woes of the world for a few hours and just have fun. For years now, the JLA Holiday Party has been the one place where anyone and everyone in the Hero Community could come to socialize with one another, share a few laughs and sometimes get a little wild. Thankfully, ever since the year we mistakenly allowed Guy Gardner unfettered access to the punchbowl, there has been a strict "no alcohol" policy for this party. I think Booster and Beetle still have the scars from that night. 

The turnout is a little lower this year. I think part of that is due to the last minute date-change. I'm not entirely certain what Batman has planned for tomorrow that required his attention so much, but when I welcomed him up here tonight, his surface thoughts were screaming pictures of several major Gotham Villains to me. Whatever it is, my guess is that Batman is going to be rather busy. It's probably just as well that we're not as packed this year as we have been in previous ones. There's only so many times you rally want to have to answer the "So, did you guys really reveal your secret identities to one another?" question. Yes, we have told one another and no, I won't tell you who Batman really is. 

Now, with the Watchtower brimming with heroic holiday cheer, I remember the many times we have all come together for a worthwhile or noble cause, the countless times we have been victorious over insurmountable odds. We may not always see eye to eye on a personal level, but when the chips are down, I know that I can count on every last person in this room to be by my side. And putting this get-together on every year is my little way of thanking each and every one of them, not only for being the heroes that they are, but also for helping to make a Martian like me a little more... human. 

***

"J'onn? Are you okay?" Superman walked up beside the Martian, placing a hand on his shoulder. J'onn blinked, then looked at the Man of Steel, shaking his head lightly and smiling. 

"I'm fine, Clark. Just thinking." 

"Well, stop it. It's a party. There's no thinking at parties," Clark replied, smiling wide. 

J'onn merely looked at him and chuckled. Both men then glanced around the room, surveying the collected heroes with equally satisfied smiles. J'onn paused at a group of the younger heroes all gathered around Arthur. Without taking his glance from the cluster, he leaned over to Clark and asked, "What is Arthur up to?"

Clark laughed lightly. "He's regaling the younger generation about the evils of Christmas."

J'onn shook his head lightly, chuckling. Arthur had promised Clark to be as ornery as always and it looked like he was living up to that promise. J'onn wondered how long it would take the kids to realize he was actually kidding. 

"Hey Clark," J'onn prompted, pointing to another familiar young face passing through the crowd, "looks like your protégé is at it again this year..."

Superman followed J'onn's pointed finger to see Kon-El, aka Superboy, weaving through the crowd with a smirk on his face as he eyed each woman he passed. Clark simply shook his head in joking disappointment. 

"That boy never learns, does he?" Superman asked rhetorically. 

"Let's just hope he thought up new lines this year. I swear, he's not trying to 'pick-up' a date, he's just trying to see how many times he can get slapped in one night..." 

As if on cue, a loud slap resounded through the room. Several nearby party-goers turned to see Superboy holding his cheek, a mischievous grin still on his face and Donna Troy storming away. The scene didn't faze many of the older heroes as they were quite used to the sound of someone getting their face slapped at the Holiday Party. Over the years, it had become almost tradition, so much so that when there _wasn't_ someone walking around and inappropriately hitting on all the women, it didn't really feel like the right party. The faces may have changed over the years, but there was always at least one. Before Superboy, it was Guy Gardner. Before Guy, it was Oliver Queen. Each had their own methods, their own lines and their own "intended victims" but the result was always the same: gasps and slaps, followed by chuckles around the room. 

"You know," J'onn half-whispered to Clark, "it's times likes this that I really miss Ollie. Don't get me wrong, Kon-El is... 'filling the role' as usual, but no one had the style and grace that Ollie did when it comes to the art of the come-on." 

Clark chuckled in agreement and both men paused briefly, each remembering their fallen friend in their own way. Suddenly, a short red and white blur appeared in front of J'onn. 

"Hi!" the squeaky little voice chirped out from the unkempt mass of hair and goggles now standing before him. J'onn smiled and looked down at the new arrival. 

"Hey, Bart. How are y..." before J'onn could finish his question, the blur was gone again, instantly appearing before Clark. 

"Hi!" the voice came again, this time directed at the Man of Steel. Clark looked over at J'onn then back down to Bart Allen, a.k.a. Impulse, the Young Justice speedster. "Hello Bart..." Zoom! He was gone again. The blur sped around the pair several times, both of their capes billowing lightly from the breeze of the circling figure. Bart stopped in front of J'onn again, an elated smile on his face. 

"Merry Christmas!" the young speedster chirped before disappearing again, circling the pair another half dozen times in half a second, then came screeching to a halt in front of Clark again. "Merry Christmas!" he repeated, then before either of the older heroes could reply, he made a few more laps around them and zipped off across the room. Both J'onn and Clark watched with amusement as Bart continued around the room stopping at each person to offer his quick little holiday cheer. 

***

"Hi!" Bart chirped again, this time coming to a halt in front of Dinah Lance. 

"Oh! Hello... uh... Impulse, right?" Dinah stuttered in surprise at the same time Bart offered a quick "Merry Christmas!" 

"Hey Bart," came the slightly annoyed voice behind him. Bart instantly spun around to see Kon-El standing there, trading glances between Bart and Dinah. "Oh! Hey Kon! How's it goin'?!" Bart elated, an over-exaggerated smile on his face. 

"Fine," Superboy almost spat the word as he mentally urged his fellow YJ member to move along and stop interrupting his quest. Impulse may be a hero that moved near the speed of light, but some things -- like catching a clue -- came ever so slowly for him. He stared, still smiling at Kon who nodded toward Dinah as a not so subtle hint to the young speedster. Bart looked back over his shoulder, smiled at Dinah, then returned his attention to Kon. Bart's face suddenly lit up in realization, then he winked not-so-slyly at Kon and sped off. Kon simply shook his head slowly. 

"Is he always like that?" Dinah mused aloud, chuckling lightly. 

"Pretty much," Kon admitted, offering a half-amused smile. "So," Superboy's smile turned into an almost lecherous grin, "The Ray tells me you're into younger guys..."

***

The collection of younger heroes surrounding Arthur completely ignored the loud slap coming from Dinah's direction, their attentions completely focussed on the older Atlantian, who was still in mid-rant.

"... and the religious meaning behind the holiday is now completely ignored by most. It's now little more than a completely consumer-driven holiday! 'Spend that hard earned money, folks. Buy, Buy, Buy!' That's all it means anymore!" 

"That's not entirely true," Arsenal started to interject, but was completely steamrolled by Arthur's continued diatribe. 

"The true, deep-rooted philosophical and spiritual meaning behind the holiday is lost in a mountain of greed, unabashed consumerism and mass-market hoopla! And the more consumers buy into it -- just as parents continue to perpetuate the lie that is Santa Claus -- the more and more the ad agencies and product manufacturers will continue to ram it down your throats!" 

"Dude, it's just Christmas!" Gar Logan interrupted. "Season of Sharing and all that. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal?!" Arthur turned to the green-skinned Gar, exasperated, "The big deal is that the surface world's -- and especially the United States' -- dependence on commercialism and material possessions are the main thing that have kept your society from truly advancing as a civilization. Culturally, psychologically and spiritually, your society is in a stranglehold that has kept it from becoming a truly great and _peaceful_ one. And until you are able to toss down the yoke of your own dependency, you will never really live up to your true potential as a race. Not to mention what all of this crass commercialism is doing to your collective psyches. I mean, I truly detest coming to the surface this time of the year! The millions of hapless consumers, trundling around with their arms laden with packages and bags -- Not a happy one among them! Every time I come to the surface during this so-called 'Holiday Season', I am inundated with these garish advertisements and in-your-face pitchmen hocking their wares in every inch of available space. It is as insulting to my intelligence as it is annoying! And it should be for you all as well!" 

"Wait," Cassie Sandsmark (Young Justice's version of Wonder Girl) broke in, "I'll admit to the commercialism surrounding the holiday, but at the root of it all, it is the Season of Peace and Love. It is the Spirit of the Season itself that permeates..."

"Oh PLEASE!" Arthur interrupted again, "that's the biggest insult of them ALL! Spirit of the Season, indeed! How insulting -- how _arrogant_ it is that you people set aside one time of the year to 'put forth that extra effort' to be nice, kind, giving and _civil_ to one another! First off, it shows your arrogance that it takes 'extra effort' in order for you to be nice to one another and secondly it shows the rest of the world that it is indeed _possible_ for you to do so! Yet, rather than opening yourself to those feelings year round, you pack all of it into one neat little holiday season so you can feel better about yourselves and the way you conduct your lives the other 11 months of the year..."

Arthur stopped abruptly as the red and white blur suddenly popped up in front of him. 

"Hi!" came the standard greeting, followed by the toothy smile. Arthur simply stared down at him, a bemused grin on his face. "Hi yourself."

"Merry Chr..." The rest of Bart's holiday greeting was muffled as Cassie's hand clamped around his mouth. She spun him around to face her, removing her hand from his mouth and grasping him on both shoulders and staring condescendingly at him. "Bart, what are you doing?!" 

"I'mjustspreadingalittleholidaycheertoeveryoneheresaying"Hi"andwishingeveryoneaMerryChristmasand..."

"BART!" She screamed, knowing that if she let him continue, he'd ramble on until he turned blue in the face. "What's gotten into you? I mean, you're always a bit... hyper, but this..."

"Actually," Arrowette explained as she approached the group, "I think this may have something to do with it." She held up a silver tray.

Cassie looked at her friend and teammate, then to the tray in her hand. "An empty serving tray?" 

Arrowette cast an irritated glance at Bart, then looked back to Cassie. "Well, up until _he _got here, this 'empty' tray was stacked with Christmas cookies. About 5 dozen Christmas cookies. Christmas _Sugar_ cookies," the female archer explained. 

Cassie returned her attention to Bart, who had started to vibrate in her hands, almost shaking the goggles off her face. She clamped down harder, stopping him in place. "BART! How many cookies did you eat?!" 

Impulse smiled sheepishly, then was suddenly gone from her grasp and fleeing around the room. Wonder Girl threw her hand up over her eyes as she lowered her head. "Aw, crap..." The others around them laughed as they watched Bart zipping around the room. 

Arthur felt something on his shoulder and turned to see a familiar green hand resting there. He turned to J'onn standing behind him, a slight smile on his face. "It's time," was all the Martian said and he motioned for Arthur to follow. Before leaving, Arthur turned back to the group of younger heroes he had been talking to. "Just think about what I said. Don't succumb to the hype." He turned to follow J'onn toward the conference room. 

"Quite the speech," J'onn muttered to Arthur as the Atlantian caught up to him. "I'm just not sure why you gave it..."

"Oh, c'mon J'onn. It was hysterical! You should have seen Gar's face when I started comparing Santa Claus to Satan..." Arthur offered with a laugh. 

J'onn just shook his head. "I couldn't help noticing, however, that it all seemed a bit... familiar somehow..."

"Ollie," Arthur admitted. "Holiday party about 8 years ago. I thought it was so damn funny that I had to remember it. I'm sure it lacked Ollie's particular... flare, but I hit the major points..."

"Well, few could ever match Ollie's style." J'onn said, his thoughts again drifting to their former compatriot. 

"Yeah," Arthur agreed, nodding toward Kon-El, who they were quickly nearing as he swaggered toward Courtney Whitmore, the newest incarnation of the Star Spangled Kid, "no matter how hard they try."

"It's funny," J'onn stated, glancing over at Arthur as they neared the conference room, "Clark and I were just reminiscing about Ollie."

"Yeah, it's times like these that I really miss him. I mean, sure: he spent most of the Holiday Parties getting drunk, hitting on all the women, but he did it with such style, such grace..."

"You couldn't help but love it, I know." J'onn agreed. 

They passed Kon-El and Courtney, just in time to overhear: "Saaaay, nice rod! Wanna see mine?" 

J'onn and Arthur both ignored the subsequent slapping sound that filled the room as they walked into the Conference room. 

"Not even in the same league..." Arthur mumbled, chuckling. 

***

As each Justice League member had entered the Watchtower at the beginning of the party, each had come into the Meeting Room and placed their gift on their own chair. Now, as they entered, they each took their seat and set their presents in the table in front of them. Superman rounded the table to his chair, but remained standing. 

"Thank you all for coming tonight," he started. "I'll skip the speeches this year and just say that we've been through a lot this year. We've weathered countless storms and come out on the other side of this year a stronger, more cohesive team. And the truth is, regardless of what's in all of these packages, we have already given each other the greatest gift of all: a commitment to one another, to this team and to the world. For that, I thank you all. Now, without further ado..." 

Superman reached down into his chair and produced a small wrapped box. He walked around the table, placing it in front of Wally. Superman made his way back to his chair as Wally began unwrapping his gift. Shredded paper flew as Wally's hands made quick work of the wrapping job. He stared down at the stack of small black plastic DVD cases in his hands, filing through them and reading the titles out one by one. 

" 'Speed', 'The Fast and The Furious', 'Run', 'Speed Limit'... I'm noticing a theme here, Superman." Wally joked, causing the other members to laugh. "Thank you. Now," Wally pulled out a wrapped square box and slid it over to Plaz. 

Expecting a small wrapped ovoid (about the shape of the little colored plastic egg that Silly Putty comes in), Eel peered cautiously at the package, then over to Wally, who merely motioned at the box indicating for Eel to open it. Plaz tore the paper away, the confused look on his face increasing as he read the front of the package. "J-judy? What the..." 

The other Leaguers looked around at each other, trading shrugs and confused looks as Wally sat with a devilish grin on his face. Kyle finally turned to Plaz. "What is it, Eel?"

A warm blush crossed Eel's face as he turned the box around and presented it to the table, reading the name aloud as all the others read it silently: 

"Judy the Plastic Love Doll."

A spattering of snickers wound around the table as the Leaguers all looked from the box to each other, then back to Eel. Kyle suddenly laughed outright, prompting Arthur and J'onn to do the same. Superman was trying desperately to conceal his own laugh, considering the gift, although funny, to still be a bit inappropriate. The only two not laughing or smiling were Eel, who simply sputtered as he stared at the back of the box, and Diana, who's mouth was open almost as wide as the picture of 'Judy' on the front of the box. 

"Wallace West!" Diana finally managed to say, an offended look on her face. 

Wally ignored her and simply turned to the exasperated Eel, who was still staring at the box. 

Wally attempted to tear Plaz's attention away from the present. "Eel. EEL!" Plaz finally looked over, total confusion and almost dread on his features. "Open the box," the Speedster instructed. 

"Wh-what?"

"Open the box." Wally repeated slowly. 

Considering his pliability, Plastic Man never really trembled, instead his hands tended to just wobble a bit. With one such wobbly hand, Eel reached up and popped the top of the box open, then tilted it back toward himself to peer inside. He face relaxed suddenly, the confusion giving way to an elated smile. He quickly spun the open box over, holding it upside down over the table. Several dozen small colored plastic eggs cascaded out from the box and rattled across the table. The noise of the bouncing eggs was drowned out by Eel's squealing voice. "PUTTY!!" 

Eel's arms stretched out and wrapped around Wally five times and squeezed in a giant constricting hug. "Thankyou-thankyou- thankyou- thankyou- thankyou!" 

Wally attempted to squirm out of Eel's bizarre grasp. "Y-you're welcome, Eel. Merry Christmas..." he managed through his own laughter. 

Another round of laughter erupted from the table as Eel's arms stretched out, surrounding the eggs and herding them back toward him. He quickly shoved the eggs back into the box, singing a little chant to himself: "I got Silly Putty. I got Silly Putty. I got Silly Putty..." 

The laughter around the table died down, Diana even relaxing a bit and allowing herself to chuckle a bit at Eel's odd behavior. Eel reached his arm down under the table and grabbed his gift. He then stretched across the table and delivered the present in front of J'onn. 

J'onn looked down at the red and yellow paper, eyeing the package carefully. While drawing Plaz's name for the Secret Santa exchange was considered the easiest choice, having your name drawn _by_ Plaz could very well be one of the most dangerous. No one ever knew exactly what to expect from the JLA's Clown Prince when it came to gifts. J'onn smiled then slowly unwrapped the package, realizing quickly that he was safe.

"A box set of DVD's," J'onn explained aloud as he saw the outer rim of the plastic-sealed box with the rows of small black jewelcases. He tore open the rest of the package and read the title, casting a confused glance back at Plaz. " 'My Favorite Martian'?" 

"Yeah!" Plaz replied, smiling brightly. "One of my all-time favorite shows and... well..." The pliable hero started to fidget a bit, looking around the table nervously before returning his attention to J'onn. "...um... you are! Ya'know: You're my... favorite... Martian." 

Several groans sounded around the table, but J'onn looked straight at Eel and smiled warmly. "Thank you, Eel. I'll enjoy this immensely." Eel let out a light sigh of relief.

J'onn reached down and picked up a small wrapped package, handing it over to Diana. She looked down at the box, then back to J'onn. "You? You had my name?" she asked, receiving a friendly nod in reply. "You didn't have to do this, J'onn. You've already given me more than enough this year. More than I can ever repay you for..." 

She started to hand the package back, but he held up his hand, refusing it. "Diana, please. Just open it." 

She stared at him for a second, then smiled warmly and opened the gift. It was a small glass snow-globe, the base a finely crafted mahogany wood. Inside was a perfect replica of the island of Themyscira and instead of small snowflakes, miniature white and pink flower petals danced and swam around the island structures. She looked up to J'onn, a slight look of confusion on her face. 

"It's so you will never feel too far from home again," J'onn explained, smiling widely. During their sessions together as he tried to help her reestablish the connection with the lasso, she had hinted that part of her problems were stemming from a feeling of detachment from her home nation. She looked down at the globe again, her eyes starting to tear. 

"Thank you, J'onn. This is... this is beautiful. Thank you so much." She got up and walked over to him, hugging him around the shoulders. He returned the hug and kissed her lightly on the cheek. They both paused, simply looking at each other for an instant, and the rest of the table knew that they were sharing a private mental exchange. She smiled again, then returned to her seat and pulled out her gift. There was a slight hesitation as she stared across the table at Arthur. 

It had been pretty clear to everyone at the name drawing that she had chosen Arthur's name. Now she suddenly seemed unsure that her gift was such a good idea. She attempted as warm a smile as possible, then slid the gift across the table toward Arthur. As soon as Arthur took the gift and started to unwrap it, J'onn sensed something was off. Arthur had obviously been as aware as the rest of them that Diana had his name and he now seemed incredibly nervous about what he was about to receive. 

Using his harpoon, he slowly cut through the tape holding the gift box together and popped open the lid. After removing several layers of tissue paper, he reached in and pulled out the contents: a small, beautifully crafted sculpture of a golden dove in flight. Arthur stared at the sculpture for a minute, then straightened in his chair. J'onn turned to regard his friend, noticing the shift in posture. Arthur simply looked straight ahead at Diana, nodded lightly and replied "It is beautiful. Thank you." 

The voice was all J'onn needed to hear. He instantly knew that this wasn't Arthur accepting a gift from a friend or even Aquaman accepting a present from a teammate. This was King Orin, accepting an offering from an ambassador from another nation on behalf of the people of Atlantis. It was too cordial, too formal, too... regal. J'onn realized that Arthur was beyond annoyed, he was pissed and rather than explode, Arthur had shifted into "King Orin" mode - locking away his real emotion behind the wall of formality. J'onn quickly sent a mental urging to his friend. 

::Arthur? What's wrong?::

::_Later_:: was the only mental reply he got. Arthur kept his gaze locked on Diana for an instant longer, J'onn noticing from the look on her face that she realized something was wrong as well. Before the situation could get any more tense, Superman interceded. 

"Arthur? Your present?" 

Arthur held Diana's gaze a moment longer, then turned to regard Superman. "Of course." He reached under the table and pulled a small, wrapped box out and handed it to Kyle. Surprised, Kyle took the box and unwrapped it quickly, revealing a small metallic cube-shaped box. The metal was darkly-colored and very dense and the entire box was etched with gold inlays, including several words in Atlantian script around the center. Noticing that the box was hinged, Kyle slowly opened the lid to reveal a gray velvet cushion inside with a perfectly placed crevice in the middle. Other than that, the box was empty. He turned to Arthur. "A...a ring box?" 

Arthur smiled politely, the royalty in his voice not completely gone. "Yes, specially crafted and enchanted to conceal the contents of the box from any detection, magical or otherwise." Noticing the look of confusion still on Kyle's face, Arthur attempted to explain further. 

"I figured that if you ever wanted to take your Lantern ring off but were afraid that it might... fall into the wrong hands, you can store it in the box and no one would be able to find it except you..."

"Ah," Kyle acknowledged that he understood the way the box worked, though he still didn't quite understand the gift. He never took the ring off. But Arthur obviously put quite a bit of thought into it and Kyle figured it was the thought that counted. "Thank you, Arthur. It's great." 

Kyle set the box down, then turned toward the wall behind his chair, holding up his hand and pointing his ring at the wall. An access panel in the wall opened and a large, green-wrapped package floated out and over the table, then came to a rest on the table in front of Batman. The Dark Knight eyed the package, which was fairly long and wide, but only a few inches thick. He picked it up, studying the wrapping, then flipped the gift over and pulled a small blade from his utility belt. Methodically, he slit the tape binding the wrapping and unfolded the paper, revealing the back of a poster-sized picture frame. He flipped the frame over and froze, staring at the picture in the frame. 

Batman sat in silence, holding the picture up in front of his face and studying the detail. Unfortunately, sitting this way had kept any of the others from seeing the picture or Batman's face. Kyle, suddenly worried that his idea was a complete failure, attempted to explain. 

"See, I originally thought about doing a portrait of Batman, but then I realized that you probably wouldn't hang that anywhere -- I mean, you don't exactly want a portrait of Batman hanging in your living room -- so I figured this way you could hang it just about anywhere and since it doesn't have any..." He stopped suddenly as Batman lowered the picture just enough to see Kyle and stared straight at him. 

"I take it this is a Kyle Rayner original?" Batman probed. 

"Y-yes." Kyle replied, trying to do the impossible: read Batman's face. 

Batman grunted and looked back down at the picture. Kyle couldn't discern if the grunt was one of approval or disgust. He nervously fidgeted with his ring as Superman - on Batman's right - and Wonder Woman - on Batman's left - both leaned over and looked at the picture. Superman smiled in pleasant surprise and Wonder Woman gasped lightly, then looked over at Kyle with a shocked expression. The others around the table leaned over, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the picture. Noticing this, Batman held the picture up and turned it around so that the others could get a good look at it. 

It was a hand-drawn, hand-painted portrait of the front of the Wayne Enterprises tower in Gotham City, mostly showcasing the large glass front doors and huge "W.E." symbol on the front of the building. Standing in front of the doors with his arms crossed and a contented smile on his face, was Bruce Wayne, dressed in a classic Italian suit. The detail was immaculate and the perspective was perfect. The portrait was, in a word: exquisite. 

The entire table viewed the picture with a mixture of surprise and admiration, each Leaguer turning toward Kyle and smiling in approval. Kyle ignored all of it as he stared in Batman's direction waiting for some kind of reaction from him. Batman flipped the picture back around and set it face up on the table. He glanced down one last time, then looked directly at Kyle, his face still stoic and unreadable. 

"Exceptionally well done, Kyle. A creative, inventive and expertly crafted gift. Thank you."

Kyle stared, his mouth hanging open at what he'd just heard. A compliment. For him. From _Batman_! After a moment, Wally kicked him under the table to shake him from his shocked amazement. 

"Y-you're welcome, B-Batman. I'm... I'm glad you like it." He managed to stammer out. 

"I do," Batman replied. "Thank you." 

Batman then reached under the table and set a large box in front of Superman. Clark smiled at Bruce, then opened the box and pulled out a large leather satchel, complete with several front pockets, brass clasps for the straps and a small, brass plate attached to the front with the letters "CK" engraved on it. Clark held up the satchel, tested the weight and turned it over and over, inspecting it. 

"Very nice," he stated, admiring the bag. He opened the bag to look inside and paused, a confused look on his face. He looked over to Batman, who merely motioned toward the bag, indicating for Superman to remove the contents. Superman reached in and pulled out a legal-sized black file folder, the confusion on his face growing. Everyone else at the table exchanged equally confused glances between each other, then looked to Batman for an explanation. Batman, in turn, motioned to the folder.

Clark opened it and glanced at the label on the inside cover of the file:

**CASE FILE:   
#43-21WFMS9910I  
Gray, Harrison Ph.D. **

Clark's eyes widened, then his brow furrowed again. J'onn finally voiced the question on everyone else's mind: "What is it, Superman?" 

"It's a case file. An old one. Dr. Harrison Gray. It's..." He paused, looked over at Batman, then back to the file. "It's the first case Batman and I ever worked on together. Dr. Gray was a plastic surgeon from Gotham who was killed in Metropolis... but," he looked at Batman again, "... I don't understand..."

"Keep reading," Batman instructed, his fingers steepled under his chin and his face still expressionless. 

Superman flipped through the file at super speed, his eyes scanning over the various police reports, interview transcripts, and newspaper articles. "I still don't understand," Superman repeated as he continued to read, "we could never figure this out. The clues never matched up. We were never able to..." He stopped abruptly, staring at one page near the back of the file: A BatComputer log report. His head suddenly snapped up in Batman's direction. "You solved it! You actually solved the case!" 

Superman stared aghast, read the page again, then stared at Batman again. "How?! This is, what, decades old?! All the leads were cold. How did you..." Batman simply stared back, the strange twitch-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Superman dropped his head, exasperated. "I know, I know: _You're Batman_, that's how."

Batman finally spoke. "Actually, I'd be glad to go over with you how it all finally worked out. We'll talk about it later." He stood from his chair, addressing all of the Leaguers. "For now, I think we're done here."

Superman stood as well, still in shock but picking up on Batman's cue. "Yes, let's all get back to the party. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all."

As everyone else stood and started collecting their presents, Kyle, Wally and Plaz were chatting back and forth about what all had happened. J'onn turned to Arthur to ask about the present from Diana but Arthur just grabbed the statue and headed immediately out the door. J'onn followed, but paused at the door to the meeting room as he noticed Arthur heading through the crowd without saying a word to anyone and walking straight toward the Teleport room. J'onn figured it was best to just let him go for now; he would talk to Arthur later once he'd had a chance to calm down. Wally, Kyle and Plaz passed J'onn at the door and headed back out to the party. 

As soon as the trio exited the doorway, they saw a figure sail through the air backwards and slam against the wall right next to the door they had just come out of. They looked over to see Superboy slide down the wall and land in a heap on the floor. All three looked around the room and finally caught sight of Big Barda, standing all the way across the room and glaring at the now fallen Kon-El, a scowl on her face as she slowly rubber her knuckles. 

Instantly, the red and white blur zoomed past and Impulse came to a stop right next to the crumpled mass of teenage hero by the wall. 

"Kon! Kon! Are you okay!" Kon-El opened his eyes, blinked several times to get his focus, then looked across the room at Barda, a huge, almost dreamy smile coming to his face. 

Bart struggled desperately to help Superboy to his feet. "Dude! What were you thinking! She could break you in half!"

Superboy just continued to stare at her. "I know," he replied in a sing-songy voice, "I think I'm in love!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Okay, I know, I'm like a month and a half late. :P Happy Holidays everyone. :D


	8. Resolutions

****

L.A. Times  
Saturday, December 22nd

Famed LA Doctor confesses to 22 year old murder  
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
By Vic Sage  
_Freelance Journalist  
_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty two years ago, the medical community was shocked and saddened to learn of the untimely death of one of its brightest and most talented stars, Dr. Harrison Gray. With incomparable skills and style in the field of plastic and reconstructive surgery, Dr. Gray had made millions in Gotham City catering to stars of stage and screen as well as Gotham's surgery-happy upper class. He was well poised to take the field to whole new levels when he tragically became a victim of an apparent hit and run. Though initially declared an accident, many felt that Dr. Gray met his end through much more sinister means. During the last year of his life, Gray had become more and more reclusive, claiming that he had received many threats on his life. His paranoia became legendary among the medical community up until the night of his untimely demise. 

The investigation into his death was long and detailed, confounded by a mountain of conflicting evidence, lack of credible eye-witnesses and the surprising complete disappearance of the vehicle that had struck him down. Many believed that the promise by Metropolis's own hero, Superman, to solve the case meant that the world would soon have its answer. Several newspapers even reported rumors of the involvement of Gotham's Dark Knight Detective, the Batman becoming involved in the investigation as well. After years of investigation and scientific study, however, the case was officially declared "Unsolved" and filed away, destined to remain in the back of the police files forever. 

That is, until last Thursday when amazingly, Dr. Miles Stryder, a former associate of Dr. Gray's, waltzed into the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office and declared his intention to confess to the 22 year-old murder. Stryder is known by most of the world as Hollywood's "Surgeon to the Stars" -- easily nine of the top ten actresses in the industry today can credit Stryder for providing them with the "assets" so many in the industry deem as necessary for advancement. Why such a famous and respected doctor would come forward after 22 years and confess to a crime he helped perpetrate is still a mystery, but confess he did. Stryder sat down in the District Attorney's office and proceeded to spin a tale that sounded more like the plot of one of his famous client's Oscar-winning films than true life. His story went as follows:

Dr. Gray had indeed received multiple threats on his life, most notably from a fanatical terrorist organization called El Kazar who took issue with the fact that Gray had performed a radical facial reconstruction on a man they claimed was an enemy of Allah, allowing him to escape their wrath. During the last year of his life, Gray did limit his exposure; his only real public appearances during that year were a result of his relationship with a young and talented actress named Savannah Summer. 

Several months before his death, Gray and Summer publicly announced their engagement at the premiere of her first major motion picture. This would be the last time Gray would be seen publicly until the night of his death. Rumors floated around the medical community that Gray was poised to make a major announcement to the world. The rumors were confirmed by Miles Stryder, then a bright, young medical student and Dr. Gray's protégé, who addressed the media, claiming that Dr. Gray would be making his first public announcement in over a year to the assembled members of the medical community at MedCon - a major medical-field gathering sponsored by, chiefly, the AMA - held that year in Metropolis. Gray showed up at the conference, with Summer on his arm, looking happier, brighter and more energetic than many had seen from the man in years. That evening, before a stunned collection 

of medical professionals, Gray announced that he was quitting his private practice and devoting all of his time and his considerable resources and talent to the creation of a clinic that would provide, free of charge, reconstructive surgery for underprivileged disabled and disfigured children as well as victims of disfiguring violent crimes who were unable to afford the surgery themselves. He claimed it was his way of giving back to the community that had given him so much. That night, as he and Summer left the hotel, a large, unmarked van hopped the curb and ran him down, killing him instantly. 

It turned out that not a week before his death, Gray had changed his will so that Summer would receive the entirety of his inheritance, a fact that did not sit very well with Gray's mother, Claudia Gray. Claudia had spent decades working 3 jobs to put her boy through medical school. She was repaid in kind by her son over the years, who used his considerable fortune to supply her with a house, a car, amenities and spending money. However, Gray's new will made no provisions for his mother or her care. In a very nasty, very public feud that many readers may well remember, Claudia Gray and Savannah Summer battled over the legality and contents of the will, including several outright accusations from Mrs. Gray that Summer had a hand in her son's death. This battle would resurface from time to time over the years, usually because of Claudia Gray. It seemed that whenever Savannah Summer made the news for one reason or another, Claudia wouldn't be far behind, rehashing the old story and reopening the old wounds. 

While all of this was going on, Miles Stryder transferred from Gotham University to UCLA, where he finished Medical School and went into private practice, focussing on, not surprisingly, plastic surgery. Many of Stryder's colleagues were amazed at the skill and prowess he exhibited in his work, reaffirming for more than a few why Gray had taken the young man under his wing. Within a few short years, Stryder had become one of Southern California's most well respected and oft-visited surgeons. The Hollywood rumor mill began tittering about a relationship brewing between the young Stryder and his former mentor's fiancée, Savannah Summer, to which Claudia Gray publicly chided as "an insult to the memory of her son". After a brief romance, Stryder and Summer were wed in a small ceremony at a secret retreat in the hills of Northern California. Claudia Gray went ballistic, the most notable example being the now-infamous _Lester Knight Live!_ interview where she called the marriage a "collaboration of sin" and she called Summer everything from "whore" to "murderer". Sadly, Claudia Gray passed away two years ago, eerily almost 20 years to the day of her son's death. 

It was at this point during the confession that Stryder dropped the bombshell: that he was, in fact, the late Dr. Harrison Gray! As he tells it, he had become more and more paranoid and concerned over the increasing death threats he had been receiving. So much so, that he devised a plan to protect himself and his fiancée for the future. He had "hand-picked" Miles Stryder to be his assistant not only because of his potential prowess and blossoming abilities, but also because the young man possessed similar body, bone and facial structure to Dr. Gray himself. After a year of mentoring, tutoring and friendship, Gray approached Stryder with his plan: they would operate on one another, changing each other's faces to switch identities. For his part, Stryder would receive access to Gray's considerable fortunes, free access to stay on with Gray's clinic and perform surgeries without having to complete medical school, and instantly gain Gray's medical community acceptance all to keep up appearances that he was, in fact, Dr. Gray. Over several months, they perfected the ruse, even to the point that Stryder performed many of the surgeries at Gray's clinic while Gray, in the guise of the young protégé, would watch on. None of 

the patients would complain, as having a young medical student in the room to observe to surgery was not an unheard of occurrence. As for what Gray got out of the deal, he was happy just to be able to continue his medical career without all of the public attention. The young and ambitious Stryder accepted instantly, his eyes filled with visions of instant wealth, fame and notoriety. After the switching, the real Gray, now living as the young Stryder, planned his former protégé's demise, knowing that only with the death of "Dr. Gray" would he and Summer be able to live their lives in relative peace. 

Stryder's, (or should I say Gray's) story began to twist even more as he laid out for the District Attorney the graphic and gory details of Stryder's murder, including _(Continued on page A-10)_

* * * * * *

Clark set the paper down on his lap, and picked up the glass of milk from the table beside the couch, smiling softly to himself. Lois was still leaning on his shoulders, where she had been reading over his head. Clark could feel the slight tension in her arms; she was in "investigative journalist" mode. 

"I still don't get it," she exclaimed. "After all this time... how? How did Batman figure this out?"

Clark chuckled lightly. "The mother," he offered, as if that were explanation enough. 

"Okay, now you're starting to sound like him, Smallville," Lois said in mock disgust, slapping him lightly on the back of the head before moving around to the front of the couch and sitting down next to him. "Try using more than 3 syllables and start again. What about the mother?" 

Clark smiled lovingly at his wife. He loved watching her mind work as she attempted to figure things out; he thought she was at her cutest when she was frustrated by a story like this. Of course, he would never say as much. He learned a long time ago that if one wanted to keep one's sanity -- and various parts of one's anatomy -- intact, one never combined the words "Lois Lane" and "Cute" in the same sentence. 

Clark explained. "After Savanah Summer collected on the inheritance she received from Gray's death, Batman put a tracer on the money. He still had his suspicions that she and Stryder were behind it, so he decided to keep tabs on them. Over the years, most of that money went untouched -- a little trip here, some of Stryder's Med School tuition there, but nothing major. Batman left the tracer in place and held onto a handful of physical evidence from the crime scene, but eventually had to 'back-burner' the case once we had both moved on to other, more pressing matters. The money moved from account to account over the years, but for the most part it just sat in the bank, collecting interest. Then, two years ago when Gray's mother passed away, a rather large sum was deducted from that money and used to cover all of her medical, funeral, and burial expenses, as well as absolving a rather high amount of debt that she left behind."

"And considering how much she and Summer had hated each other, why would Summer turn around and settle things like that," Lois prompted, starting to put the pieces together in her own mind. 

Clark smiled at his wife again; she truly was a remarkable woman. "Exactly. So when Batman re-opened the investigation, he discovered the payments and decided to check up on Stryder and Summer. It wasn't until he actually watched Stryder going about his daily routine that he noticed something strange. Stryder had a lot of the same body movements, mannerisms and habits that Gray used to. So, thanks to the handful of physical evidence from the original case and the advancements in DNA testing over the last 20 years, Batman was able to determine the truth: that Miles Stryder was in fact Harrison Gray, which meant the body lying in Gray's grave was actually that of the original Miles Stryder." 

"Unreal," Lois admitted. 

"The funny part is," Clark added, "this case would have never been solved if it weren't for the fact that Batman drew my name for the Secret Santa giveaway this year..."

"Wait a second," Lois interrupted, "so how did we get from Batman discovering the truth to Stryder/Gray waltzing into police headquarters and confessing to the crime?" 

Clark looked over the rim of his glasses at his wife, a small smirk crossing his face. "He's Batman." 

"Darling," Lois cooed, taking his hand and staring lovingly into his eyes, "sweetheart, love of my life... I love you dearly, but if you ever do that again, I'm leaving you." She playfully stuck her tongue out at her husband, then stood and walked toward the kitchen. 

"Hey, this is Bruce we're talking about," Clark replied to her departing back. "He can be very... persuasive."

"_Persuasive_, huh?" Lois chided, coming back out of the kitchen with a can of diet soda. "Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

"Well, whatever Batman's methods were, they were effective. Quite frankly, I don't think I _want_ to know how he did it..."

"And you call yourself a journalist," Lois pshawed. 

Clark simply rolled his eyes and took another sip of his milk. 

"So how did the rest of the party go last night," Lois changed the subject, coming to sit next to him on the couch again. 

"Pretty well," Clark admitted. "Kon-el spent the rest of the night following Barda around. Wally and Kyle took turns attempting to keep Bart from climbing the walls. Literally. Diana was a bit... distracted..."

"Oh?" It was supposed to just be a statement. A question, even. A simple indication of curiosity. But even Lois recognized the spite in her voice as the half-grunted word tumbled from her lips. 

Clark steam-rolled ahead, wanting no part of the Great Diana Debate. "Well, apparently Arthur left immediately following the gift exchange, rather upset about the gift she had given him. So she spent most of the evening a bit annoyed..."

"Too bad for her, then," Lois replied, again sounding a bit more callous than she intended. She knew Clark still saw that insufferable bitch as a friend, but that didn't mean she had to like it. 

"I don't know," Clark said flatly, staring down into his milk glass, "I just wish they'd settle this once and for all and we can all just put this bull-malarkey behind us..."

Lois turned to regard her husband, a sly smile on her face. He looked back at her, a questioning look on his brow. 

"Y'know, Smallville," She drawled in her best condescending School Marm voice, "you _are_ an adult now. You can say the word 'bullshit' if you like..."

Batman had his patented BatGlare: that sneering, vicious look that could reduce men of even the strongest will to quivering mounds of terrified flesh. Superman, however, had what was simply referred to as The Stare. It was that paternal "tsk-tsk-you-should-know-better" stare that rather than instilling fear, instilled that overwhelming sense of guilt in most people. It was safe to say however, that Lois Lane was not "most people". It was certainly Superman who laid The Stare on her at that moment and she simply smirked wickedly, then reached out and adoringly pinched his cheek. 

"Why Superman," she responded, "you're so cute when you're trying to be so self-righteous." She released his cheek, chuckling and stood up, heading back toward the bedroom. "Don't forget, Smallville, we're having dinner with Perry tonight."

Apparently, the words "cute" and "Superman" were perfectly acceptable sentence partners. Clark stood, finished his milk and returned the empty glass to the kitchen before following Lois back toward the bedroom to change. A high-pitched beeping stopped him halfway up the hall, though. He paused and looked into the second bedroom that had become their study/library/work/computer room as Lois stuck her head out of the bedroom door. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" she spat, the annoyance clearly palpable in her voice. "You spent all night last night with those people. Can't they leave you alone for just one night!"

"Lois..." Superman started, but was immediately cut off by his annoyed 

wife. "Spare me the 'Duty' speeches, Smallville. Just answer your damn summons." 

Clark sighed lightly, then headed into the computer room and opened the hidden JLA Communicator station in the bookshelf.

* * * * * *

Soon after the accident that changed him into Plastic Man, Eel O'brian had attempted to come to grips with exactly what had happened to him. The immediate changes were obvious. The pliability and shape-changing abilities came on almost naturally. He also found that his entire perspective was... skewed. He began to perceive the world around him like one big cartoon -- hence his "strange" sense of humor. But he wanted to know more. Like many people who acquire new-found powers of some kind, he simply wanted to know what he could and couldn't do.

One of these "tests" was a trip up to the Catskills where he climbed to the highest peak he could find, tied a large rock to his feet, grabbed a nearby tree and sent the rock tumbling down the side of the mountain. He learned two things on that fateful day: one, that he could stretch his body out to just over a mile in length; and two, that after a mile or so of stretching, his body would start to tear like an over-extended rubber band. The resulting gash in his side and subsequent tumble down the mountain after he released his hold on the tree were painful reminders that, regardless of his amazing abilities, he was still human and he could be wounded. His immediate concern was repairing the damage to his side. He quickly discovered that normal bandages would never work; one stretch and the bandages simply popped off. In a panic, he scoured the drug store looking for a solution. Then he saw it, shining through the night like a small, egg-shaped bright plastic Holy Grail. 

Silly Putty. 

He immediately bought out the drug store's entire stock of the pliable goo and ran home. To his chagrin, he discovered that the putty did very little to help heal the wound, but it did have an interesting side effect. One minute after applying the putty, the wound began to tingle. After five minutes, his entire side was completely numb. After ten minutes, the wound had still not healed, but Eel suddenly didn't care anymore. His mind was floating in a haze of bright colors and weird lights. His normally Warner Brothers-ish cartoony perspective began to shift into a Crumb/Bakshi landscape. 

Back during his days as a criminal, Eel was no stranger to intoxicating substances. He was, by no means, a drunkard or a junkie, but he wasn't exactly a teetotaler either. He'd done enough "experimenting" to know first hand the concept of a "drug trip". That night, as the clock slowly ticked past the 30 minute mark, he found himself merely laying back on the bed and letting the feeling wash over him. The wound eventually healed itself, but the memory of that night burned into his psyche. 

Over the years, Eel had made some interesting discoveries about the substance he had come to regard as simply "The Putty". Through a little trial and error, he determined that a small pinch, swallowed like a pill, would have the same effect as a few aspirin. A slightly larger pinch would combine the pain-reduction with a mild sedating effect. As the doses got bigger and bigger, so did the Putty's effect. It also worked as a magnificent topical anesthetic. Years after the "Catskills Incident", he learned that the best way to repair tearing damage was with extreme heat. Heat caused his body to "melt" into a much gooier state, allowing him to press the wound closed and seal it. Thanks to the numbing effects of the Putty, he could use as much heat as necessary without having to "feel the burn". 

Periodically, however, he did use the Putty for more than... medicinal purposes. That was why, the morning after the JLA Holiday Party, Eel sat at his kitchen table, staring down at his present from Wally that could only be described as "The Motherlode": 36 little plastic eggs filled with intoxicating joy. Eel had been playing with the things ever since he woke up. He swirled them all around 

on the table. He arranged them in neat little rows. He organized them all by color. He attempted to make egg-pyramids. He simply couldn't believe his luck. He made a mental note to thank Wally in a huge way...

The small beeping filled his apartment, tearing him from his intense concentration on the sea of bright plastic on the table in front of him. Grunting in disgust, he got up and went into his den, sitting down at his make-shift computer desk. His JLA comm unit was hidden behind a stack of papers, which he promptly tossed aside. A look of confusion crossed his rubbery face for a moment, quickly replaced by a sly smile. His arm reached back into the kitchen, grabbed one of the eggs off of the table and brought it back to him. He pried the plastic egg open, pulled out a thumb-sized chunk, rolled it into a ball and popped it into his mouth. Leaning back in his chair, he set his feet up on the desk and stared intently at the small view screen...

* * * * * *

"... and a quick solution, sir. Very well. I shall send notice forthwith."

Arthur and Vulko sat in Arthur's ready chambers, discussing several affairs of the kingdom. Vulko presented his King with various items that needed decisions as Arthur sat stoically behind his desk, his mind only half on the tasks at hand. They were suddenly interrupted by a familiar beeping. They paused, staring at each other for a moment as the beeping continued, then Arthur dropped his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Vulko stood and headed for the door, taking a mountain of papers under his arm. He paused and turned back to his King, who was moving over toward the JLA Comm unit. 

"Shall I tell the guards to warm up the teleport device for you, sir?" 

"Might as well," Arthur replied, almost reluctantly. "Just in case." Vulko nodded his acceptance, turned and walked out. 

The screen flickered briefly as Arthur turned it on. He stared, motionless at the screen, the muscles in his shoulders reflexively tensing as he read the block of text before him.

"Oh, fuck me..." the King of Atlantis muttered.

* * * * * *

Detroit Detective John Jones sat at his desk, filling out a case file on his laptop. 

"I don't know how you do it, Jones," the sultry female voice echoed through the office. John looked up and smiled at the speaker: Jones Investigations newest employee, Diane Meade. John had struggled for a long time with the decision to hire a partner for Jones Investigations because of the potential problems with his "other life". Unfortunately, JI's ever-growing caseload combined with J'onn's growing JLA responsibilities were making it clear that he would need a little assistance. 

All his concerns immediately melted away the day Diane came in for her interview. John had been mired in a sea of amazingly similar applicants: middle-aged, pudgy, slightly-balding retired cops who didn't want to be "totally out of the game yet"; ex-military guys with too long a criminal record for real police work; and a few guys who had seen a few too many episodes of _Magnum P.I._ and _Mike Hammer_. Then, in waltzed Diane. She was bright, witty, charming, friendly and talented. Undergraduate degree in Criminology from NYU, Masters Degree in Criminal Psychology from MSU, 6 years as a Criminal Investigator with the Midtown Police Department Homicide Division -- she had all the makings of an excellent Federal Agent, except for her "healthy distaste of all governmental agencies" (as it said on her résumé). Cram all of that into a 5' 10" well-built frame, with fiery red hair and personality to match, and John was intrigued. During the interview, she looked him straight in the eye, told him she had looked over his case history and determined that he had been running his own agency directly into the toilet. He hired her on the spot. 

Her comment still hung in the air as she stood, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned up against the door jamb. John maintained his smile while he cocked a questioning 

eyebrow at her. She pushed off from the doorway and sauntered across his office toward his desk.

"You have this uncanny ability to take these seemingly incongruous clues and piece them all together in the correct order to solve your case. I swear, sometimes it's like you're a mind reader..."

John chuckled lightly, still tapping away at his keyboard. "I guess you could say that I have a better understanding of the criminal mindset than most..." he replied absently. 

"Really..." Diane replied, intrigued. She slid over to the front of his desk, leaning over and eyeing him curiously. "Sounds like Mysterious Confessions of a Misspent Youth."

John stopped typing and flicked his eyes up to meet her probing gaze. His smile widened a little as he replied with a flippant "Something like that..."

He returned his attention to the screen as she continued to stare down at him. She eyed him up and down, then chuckled lightly to herself, standing back up. "You're a strange bird, Jones. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Once or twice," he replied, typing again. He stopped suddenly, his eyes darting to the side and his head cocking ever so slightly, then he quickly returned his attention to the screen. 

It was so quick that it would have gone unnoticed by most people. Diane's ever-cautious eye caught the move. "What?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. 

He looked up at her and responded with an oblivious sounding "Huh?"

"Don't play games with me, Jones. I saw that little look. You look like you noticed something strange..." her eyes shifted over to where he had glanced, trying to determine what he had been looking at. Truth was, it wasn't something visual that had caught his attention, it was something aural. 

"Oh that," John replied, trying to pull her attention back to him. "Sorry, a thought just occurred to me about another case. Caught me off guard..."

She eyed him curiously again for a long moment, then shrugged. "You certainly are an enigma, Jones. I think I'm gonna like working for you."

"Thank you... I think," he chuckled, then looked up at the clock on the wall. "Y'know, Diane, it's Saturday, it's getting late and I'm almost done here. Why don't you head out for the night and I'll see you on Monday."

Diane adopted a look of mock annoyance. "What is this, the blow-off? You tryin' to get rid of me?" 

"No, no, no!" he replied apologetically, "I didn't mean it like that, I just meant that..."

"Relax, boss. It's called a sense of humor. Look into it sometime." She winked, smiling wide. "I'll see ya on Monday." She turned and strolled out casually. 

J'onn waited until he heard her leaving the outside office, quickly scanning with his x-ray vision to make sure she was actually gone. Once he saw that she was safely in her car and on her way, he closed his laptop and spun around in his chair. Then, he reached up and pulled away the fake book spines on the lower right shelf to reveal the JLA Comm Unit. A small red light flashed in the corner, blinking at the same interval as the supersonic beeping that had initially caught his attention. He flicked the view screen on and was met with a block of words on the screen:

**__**

A Holiday Missive from Diana, Princess of Themyscira

* * * * * *

Kyle sat at his home computer, browsing the web for some new charcoal pencils. After ten continuous minutes of the droning Princess Prattlehead, he had moved his JLA Comm unit next to his computer monitor so he could keep doing what he had been doing before the interruption. All of a sudden, an Instant Message window popped up, a familiar nickname adorning the top line:

ScrltSpdDmon: Dude, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!?!?  
ScrltSpdDmon: Hi, BTW! :P

Kyle laughed at Wally's intro, then began typing back.

GreenJeansV5.0: hey! PP's on the prowl again  
ScrltSpdDmon: Seriously! Y'know, when I signed on with this "crew"  
ScrltSpdDmon: I did't realize that part of the job requirements included having to listen to Bitchy McPreachy-pants.   
GreenJeansV5.0: ROFL!!   
ScrltSpdDmon: ;) :P   
GreenJeansV5.0: now cmon. was that really in the "spirit of the season"? ;)  
ScrltSpdDmon: Yeah, yeah... I got your "spirit" right here...  
ScrltSpdDmon: Besides, she opens herself up to ridicule pulling stupid shit like this!  
GreenJeansV5.0: not that we'd say that to her face. ;)  
ScrltSpdDmon: Of course not. It's more fun to say it behind her back. :P  
GreenJeansV5.0: I dunno. I guess she _means_ well  
ScrltSpdDmon: Well meaning or not, I don't care. If I wanted a Sermon, I'd go to church!   
GreenJeansV5.0: still it's not like this is totally unexpected  
ScrltSpdDmon: True. I dunno. I guess I was hoping that Artie had boinked a little sense into her...  
GreenJeansV5.0: OMG!! dude, you did NOT just say that! ugh!  
ScrltSpdDmon: Heh heh heh  
GreenJeansV5.0: hey, speaking of Fishy, you notice that every time PP starts rambling off the list of holidays in this little diatribe, she makes sure to include the Atlantean Migration Festival...  
ScrltSpdDmon: Yeah, I did notice that. Got to make sure she includes Artie in all of this... wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea and storm out on the party again!  
GreenJeansV5.0: no shit, man. WTF was that about?!  
ScrltSpdDmon: I dunno. Don't think I want to.   
GreenJeansV5.0: I mean, sure he got a shitty gift, but really...  
ScrltSpdDmon: Nah, I think there's more to it than that. Something about what it was.  
GreenJeansV5.0: Who knows

ScrltSpdDmon: Jesus, how long is this going to go on?!?  
GreenJeansV5.0: I don't know. And don't call me Jesus ;)   
ScrltSpdDmon: Oh, ha ha.   
GreenJeansV5.0: I bet we're the only 2 left watching at this point  
ScrltSpdDmon: No no. Remember, this is coming from the Tower. She knows exactly who's logged on and who isn't. And we all know that if we tune out now, we'll just get a worse tongue-lashing later.   
GreenJeansV5.0: good point - hadnt thought of that!  
ScrltSpdDmon: Well, at least Plaz'll be happy.  
GreenJeansV5.0: ?   
ScrltSpdDmon: Notice that she stayed far enough away from the camera so that Zan and Jayna were still visible. :P LOL  
GreenJeansV5.0: oh cmon, man. enough with the WonderTwins cracks.   
GreenJeansV5.0: besides, as I recall, _you_ didn't know who they were either!  
ScrltSpdDmon: LOL Fair enough. Still, I just love callin' 'em J-Z  
GreenJeansV5.0: LOL  
ScrltSpdDmon: I mean, can't you just see 'em bouncing around:  
ScrltSpdDmon: "H to tha izzO, V to tha izzA"   
GreenJeansV5.0: ROFL!!  
ScrltSpdDmon: *bows* Thank you, Thank you. I'll be here all week. Try your waitresses, tip the veal.   
ScrltSpdDmon: I love being the Rap King of the JLA :D  
GreenJeansV5.0: Than again, I'm probably the only member of that court...  
ScrltSpdDmon: True. I don't picture Bats sitting around his little cave blasting The Eminem Show...  
GreenJeansV5.0: ugh, don't talk to me about bats right now   
ScrltSpdDmon: Why? What happened? He do something to you?  
GreenJeansV5.0: no, not The Bat. A bat  
ScrltSpdDmon: o_0 ??  
GreenJeansV5.0: Jen... "discovered" last night that I had a bat nesting in the coat closet  
ScrltSpdDmon: WHAT?!?!  
GreenJeansV5.0: Yeah, pretty fukked up  
ScrltSpdDmon: No way, dude. That's bizarre!!  
GreenJeansV5.0: no kidding. we spent like half the night trying to get the damn thing out of the apartment  
ScrltSpdDmon: Holy Shit!! LOL  
GreenJeansV5.0: it wasn't funny!   
ScrltSpdDmon: Sorry, that's just too bizarre for words. What the hell happened?

Kyle relayed the entire story about the failed attempts to remove the bat from his apartment, both he and Wally conveniently forgetting the Holiday Missive still in progress.

* * * * * *

"In conclusion, I call upon each and every one of you to do your part to help spread the spirit of this season. Whether we care to admit it or not, we are all role models, not only for the younger generation, but for all of humanity. As such, it is imperative for us to lead by example and demonstrate to all the world that we _can_ live in peace and harmony with one another, we _can_ settle all disputes amicably and peacefully, we _can_ open our hearts and minds to people of all races, all religions, all nationalities and all generations. Love knows no boundaries. Love knows no borders. Love knows no politics. Love is love, pure and simple and love is what will guide us and the rest of humanity into a brighter tomorrow. Thank you, good night and Happiest of Holidays to each and every one of you."

Diana reached out and disconnected the feed, smiling warmly. She was happy, content in the knowledge that her message of peace was getting out. 

"Nice speech."

The low, rumbling voice caught her off guard. She had thought she was alone in the Watchtower. She jumped and squealed lightly, turning toward the doorway. Arthur stood, arms folded across his chest, leaning against the door frame and staring directly at her. 

"A-Arthur? Hera, you startled me. I didn't expect anyone else to be here." She smiled lightly, chuckling at her own reaction to getting caught unawares. In response, Arthur smiled wryly, not moving an inch or showing any other signs of response. She eyed him curiously for a moment, then returned her attention to the monitor womb screens, making her preparations to continue duty.

"So what brings you up here tonight?" She asked back over her shoulder. 

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was flat, monotone. 

She turned back to face him again, a confused look crossing her brow. "Obvious?"

Arthur gave and half-hearted chuckle and shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "C'mon, Diana. This whole 'Holiday Missive' thing? You were trying to send a message. Well, message received." The anger and animosity started to grow in his voice. 

"I hope so," Diana responded slowly, still confused. Why would Arthur be upset that she was spreading her message of peace? "If everyone pitches in, we can make some real changes. Especially this time of year..."

"Cut the crap, Di." Arthur interrupted, finally moving away from the doorway and approaching her. "You think I didn't get the real meaning behind all of this? 'Settling disputes amicably', 'Resolving internal conflicts', 'putting aside personal gain for the betterment of everyone else'... It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you were _really_ talking about." 

"Arthur, what are _you_ talking about?" 

He sighed, obviously trying to keep his composure. "What was with the gift?" 

"The Gift?" she replied, now even more confused at the sudden change of topic. 

"Yeah, the gift. The statue..." he prompted, as if having to remind her about it. 

Now Diana sighed, suddenly starting to understand at least part of the impetus behind this visit. She had followed Donna suggestion to get him a peace offering. Now it seemed that the intention wasn't well received. "Look, Arthur. The statue was supposed to be a peace offering. I was just trying to indicate that maybe we ought to... bury the hatchet, as it were."

"A peace offering?!" he responded, exasperated. He turned and started to pace, still trying to keep a calm demeanor but quickly failing at it. 

"Yes, a peace offering," she admitted. "You know, doves... symbol of peace..."

He suddenly spun on her, his face quickly reddening as he shouted. "**It was the Golden Dove of APHRODITE!!**" He paused momentarily as she reeled slightly from the outburst. "You think I wouldn't know that?!" he continued, attempting to calm himself some. He hadn't wanted another shouting match, but he knew they had to resolve this, once and for all. "That statue isn't a symbol of peace, it's a symbol of _love_!"

Her brow softened lightly as realization started to set in. He had misunderstood the meaning of the gift. "Arthur, wait. That was never my intention..."

"**Bullshit!**" he screamed at her face, then turned and started pacing again. "That's bullshit, Princess. You know all too well _exactly_ what that statue stands for. You give that shit to me last night, and then tonight you start pulling this ridiculous soapbox bullshit..."

"Now wait a second," Diana attempted to interrupt, suddenly going on the defensive. Attacking her was one thing, but attacking her message? 

He was suddenly in her face again. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!" 

Her Amazon defenses instinctively kicked in. "Want? _WANT_?! I DON'T WANT ANYTHIN..." she stopped abruptly, realizing that it was all falling apart again. She stepped back, taking a deep breath, and remembered Donna's suggestion. Diana knew how to handle conflict resolution.

"Arthur, I appreciate your concerns here and I understand where you are coming from. Maybe we need to sit down and discuss this matter more fully..."

He stared at her as if he'd been slapped. "What the fuck is this?" he growled. " 'Discuss this matter more fully'?! Don't play the Ambassador with me! This isn't about King and Princess. This isn't Ruler vs. Ambassador. This is about you and me! Person to person. Don't try to fucking placate me like some evil dictator."

Diana sighed again and threw her hands in the air, getting exasperated herself. "Then what do you want me to say, Arthur?" 

"The Truth, Diana," he replied, suddenly finding himself calming down as well. The shouting was over. They both knew it was time to hash this out once and for all. "That's all I've ever wanted from you. The Truth."

She smiled lightly in spite of herself. "I think it's fair to say I can do that."

He gave a one-grunt chuckle, admitting the humor in asking for the Truth from the one charged as its Champion. In that one shared moment, something happened. They both realized the futility of arguing over and over again. The tension in the room began to diminish, replaced by a strange sort of calm. All the anger, all the bitterness started to wither away as they stood, face to face, and resigned themselves to finally resolve their problems once and for all. She looked up at him with softer eyes. "What do you want to know?" 

"What happened?" he probed. "Where did we go wrong?" 

She thought for a moment, allowing herself to dwell back on times that she had tried to put behind her. "I-I don't know. I guess it all started with that night in Atlantis. I had lost the Lasso. I was confused, upset, hurt, angry... lost. My heart rebelled against everything that my mind perceived as a lie. And I lashed out at you. I never meant to hurt you. I just didn't know what was happening to me."

He nodded a brief agreement, not wanting to interrupt her. He would let he talk, say what she needed to say.

"After that, once I got the Lasso back and started working with J'onn, I could finally see all that had happened. I was so ashamed, so distraught over what I had allowed myself to do and who I allowed myself to hurt... I had disrespected the honor of my heritage and my ancestors. I've been trying to resolve that, trying to correct my mistakes and right the wrongs I had perpetuated. I-I tried to confront you about it, tried to apologize, but..."

"But I wouldn't let you," he finished for her. "I was so angry. I was so bitter and so confused. I felt like you'd taken all that we had and tossed it aside merely to placate your ego. I felt like you had ripped out my heart and spat on it. So I reacted. I did what I always do: I lashed back..."

Then spent a quiet moment just staring at each other. Arthur finally dropped his head and sighed, then look back into her eyes. "So... what now?"

The question seemed to catch her of guard. She was expecting to talk this out more, to address the myriad of problems and confrontations, but she realized that Arthur was finished with that part of the conversation. Pushing for more now would only bring the animosity back. 

"What do you mean: 'What now'?" 

"Where do we go from here? What about... us?" 

She looked away, trying to search her only feelings for an answer. "Oh. 'Us'. I don't..."

His hand reached up, gently catching her chin and nudging her face back toward his. His face was serious. Not stern or angry or bitter, just serious. "Do you still love me?"

She paused. "I-I don't know..." His shoulders slumped slightly as his hand fell away from her chin. Then, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and began to nod slowly, as if confirming to himself what he already knew. She caressed the side of his face gently, staring back into his eyes. 

"I _do_ love you, Arthur, I always will. You touch a part of me that no one else ever has. Our time together has meant more to me than words can say. I love you. I respect you. I admire you..."

"But you're no longer _in_ love with me," he concluded, looking deep into her eyes for confirmation. There was a slight pause, then she finally spoke. 

"No. No I'm not." 

He took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. "That's it then," he said quietly. "Okay... okay. Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

"Of course," she answered, a light concern welling up within her. He started to turn to leave, but she reached out and grabbed his shoulders. "Arthur, what about you?"

His brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "What about me?"

"How do _you_ feel," she urged, her eyes searching his for the answer. 

He paused for a moment, pain creeping onto his face. He turned his face to the side, away from her probing stare. "How I feel doesn't matter." 

"Please," she urged again. "Please tell me Arthur. I need to know."

His face suddenly shot back up to hers. "You _need _to know?" A light growl returned to his voice that she instantly recognized not as anger or bitterness, but pain. "You need to know that every time you walk into the room, my heart leaps into my throat? You need to know that every time we make contact, your touch is like an electric shock that goes straight to my soul? You need to know that every time I'm near you, my heart aches because I can't touch you, I can't hold you, I can't have you, I can't be with you? Is _that_ what you need to know?!"

She reached out to his face, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Arthur..."

His hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from making contact. "Don't!" he growled forcefully. He paused, staring at her and his face suddenly loosened. "Don't," he repeated, much softer. "I don't want your pity, Diana. This is me. This is my thing to deal with. I'll deal with it in my own way. You don't need to worry about it..."

"But I _do_ worry, Arthur. Is there anything I can do?" she pleaded, trying again to move her hand to his face, but his grip held firm. "What will it take to make this right by you?" 

He pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. After a moment, he pulled away slightly, leaned down and kissed her on the lips. It was a kiss devoid of desire, devoid of lust, devoid of passion. It was an answer. It was a promise. 

He pulled away, braking the kiss and stared deeply into her eyes one last time. "Time," he replied. "All it will take is time." He brought her in close again, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. His muscles tensed slightly around her as they stayed locked in that embrace for what seemed like forever. He finally pulled away from her again, smiled weakly, then turned around and walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of the Monitor Womb, sobbing softly. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: One more chap to go and this one's a wrap, folks. Thanks again to Ken, Chris and the entire CTMB crew for their invaluable input and support. And a special thanks to Brii-anna -- you are my joy, my love, my inspiration and my life. Thank you. 

Be sure to visit Chris (Cat-Tails), Rob (TwoFace Tales) and I at the Cat-Tails Message Board: 


	9. Discussions

****

Thursday

There he is again. One or two visits, I probably wouldn't even think twice about, but the fifth visit in as many days is enough cause a slight concern. However, Talia Head is now the acting CEO of LexCorp, so seeing an emissary of Ra's al Ghul in Metropolis -- specifically going into the LexCorp offices every day just before noon -- isn't all that suspicious. Besides, if it weren't for the fact that I've been keeping an eye on LexCorp since Lex moved into the White House, I probably wouldn't have even noticed.

And of course, with Luthor being particularly paranoid about me, all of the walls in the LexCorp towers have lead panels in them, preventing me from seeing what this strange emissary is actually doing inside. The visits appear to be fairly innocent; nothing to be too alarmed over. He goes in with a parcel and comes out a few minutes later. Recently, he's come out with a female employee of LexCorp, but that appears to be more... social. Still, a simple phone call to Bruce might be in order...

Except... well... it's Hell Month. Not that that should keep me from calling, but I know he's exceptionally busy right now and I don't want to bother him with something that could very well be nothing. I suppose I could follow this messenger, find out where he goes once he leaves here, but with half the criminal population in Gotham vacating for "safer pastures", I've been up to my ears in work around Metropolis. I'll keep an eye on it, and if anything happens, I'll have info for Bruce or the League as necessary. 

Besides, it's Hell Month. Ra's isn't stupid enough to try anything during Hell Month. 

Is he?

***

Arthur strolled into his private study and reached to turn on the beeping Comm unit. He froze. The last time he'd answered the damnable thing, it had been Diana with her little "Holiday Missive", which led to the inevitable confrontation at the Watchtower and... 

He shook the memory from his mind and hit the switch, the screen flickering on to reveal a familiar, if somewhat out of place, face.

"Hey, Dad!" Garth said, smiling widely on the screen.

"Hi," Arthur replied, grinning before adding "J'onn."

Garth's face instantly morphed back into J'onn's now disappointed one. "Damn! You caught that one quickly." 

"Well," Arthur explained, "first of all, Garth never calls me 'Dad'. Secondly, Garth would never call me on a JLA Comm channel." 

"And third?" J'onn prompted, knowing from his compatriot's expression that there was more to his quick unveiling of the charade. 

"Third," Arthur admitted, chuckling, "Garth is standing right outside my door as we speak."

"Ah well, another good impression ruined by Fate." J'onn joked. "I'm actually just calling you to tell you that the meeting tomorrow has been pushed back an hour."

"Pushed back?" Arthur replied, his mind quickly scrolling through the scheduler in his head and making adjustments for the new time.

"Yeah, Clark has a meeting at the White House tomorrow afternoon. He said if it was just him, then he wouldn't worry about us meeting without him, but with Bruce out as well..."

"Bruce?!" Arthur interrupted. "Why is Bruce not going to be... oh for Poseidon's Sake, don't tell it's still that Hell Month whaleshit..."

J'onn chuckled silently at Arthur's... vernacular. The only thing J'onn thought was more colorful than the beautiful coral reefs adorning the underwater city of Atlantis was the language of its King. "Arthur, considering all that he does for us year in and year out, we can forgive him his... eccentricities..."

" _'Eccentricities'_ my pale, scaly ass!" Arthur retorted. "Besides, I don't really care about him missing the meetings. It's the way that everyone in the whole damn League tends to bend over backward and silently accept his little month-long absence as if it were standard protocol."

"Anyway," J'onn said flatly, attempting to change the subject in order to avoid the great Hell Month debate, "The meeting is an hour later tomorrow."

"Fine," Arthur conceded. "I'll be there."

"Oh, one more thing," J'onn added before Arthur could flip the switch to kill the connection. The Martian reached over and punched in the code on the Watchtower console, securing the connection. "This Saturday, my place. Seven o'clock."

It had become an unwritten rule of the most recent incarnation of Third Saturdays that January was always J'onn's month to host. He was the one to revive the old tradition in the first place and it only seemed fitting that he hosted the first one after the two month hiatus for the holidays -- the first one of every year. Of course, every one of the participants would say that it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that Denver was about as far away from Gotham as possible. Well, except Kyle, that is.

***

****

Friday

That's odd, the messenger hasn't shown up today. I'd blame it on traffic, but he's always on foot. I'd say he's just running late, but he's an employee of Ra's Al Ghul; they're on time or they lose their heads. I should be more concerned about this, but right now, I have to head to Washington for a meeting with the President. I don't know what game Luthor's playing now, but I'll go along with it until I know what he's up to. Sorry Bruce, but Luthor takes precedence. 

***

Kyle waltzed into the conference room for the weekly meeting, surprised to see Wally sitting at one of the computer terminals along the wall. He heard several strange noises emanating from Wally before he got close enough to recognize what they were: chuckles. 

"You're here early," Kyle greeted, causing Wally to jolt in his chair. 

"Gah! Jesus, man. You scared the crap outta me!" Wally quickly regained his breath, turning to see his friend standing behind him. "Warn a guy, would'ja?."

"Sorry," Kyle chuckled in lackluster apology. "You not get the message that the meeting time was changed?"

"No," Wally admitted. "I showed up like an hour ago and no one was here. I checked in at the Monitor Womb and Steel told me about the change. I figured that going home and coming back in an hour was pointless, so I decided to just hang out here until everyone else showed up. Why was the meeting changed?"

"Oh, Supes had some... _thing_ at the White House this afternoon," Kyle answered absently as he glanced over Wally's shoulder to the computer screen, trying to make out what Wally had been doing. 

"The White House? He's meeting with _Luthor_?"

"Apparently," Kyle responded, looking back at his friend for a second before returning his gaze to the console monitor. "Means he'll no doubt be in a _wonderful_ mood by the time he gets here," he sarcastically added. 

"Great," Wally spat, turning back to the console. 

"Wait," Kyle interrupted, "you decided to hang here for an hour rather than go home? You. Wally West. _The Fastest Man Alive_. Wally, you could do more in an hour than most of us could do in a month!"

Wally looked back up at his friend, gave a weak smile and shrugged. "What can I say. I may be fast but I'm also _incredibly_ lazy." When the look that Kyle gave him let him know that Kyle wasn't buying it, he chuckled and decided to come clean. "Okay, that and the fact that Linda's been getting on my case about poking around on this web site. I figured I could do it here without interruption." Wally motioned toward the screen. 

Kyle leaned in over his shoulder, reading the text on the screen:

~~~~~

****

Topic: how can Flash scoop up people at superspeed... 

Started by: _JediNite_

...without tearing them up? Has this been explained somewhere?  
_____________________________________________________________________

__

implsefan

He picks them up s l o w l y... LOL  
_____________________________________________________________________

__

SpEd_phreak

From what I've read, Flash can lend speed to other objects. So he probably can give them some foward motion before he even reaches them.

~~~~~

Wally chuckled. 

"Wally," Kyle questioned, "What the hell is this?" 

Wally motioned toward the screen, tilting it back slightly to give Kyle a better view. "This is the SHMB."

"The what?"

"SHMB," Wally reiterated. "The Super Hero Message Board. It's an on-line message board. They allow people from all over the 'Net to post their ideas and discuss..."

"I know what a Message Board is, Walls. But did you say 'Super Hero'?"

"Yeah, the Super Hero Message Board. I stumbled onto it by accident. Turns out, there's this board where a bunch of folks congregate to talk about... well, us! Essentially, any and all Super Powered beings on the planet."

"A Fan Board for Super Heroes?!" Kyle gaped at the screen as Wally clicked a few links to go back to main web-page for the board.

"Basically, yeah," Wally confirmed, clicking through various links, showing Kyle the general layout of the board. "It's done pretty well. There's a whole section just on the JLA, with individual discussion boards for each member." Wally clicked the links through the JLA area as he described it to Kyle, ending on a page with a list of JLA member's names each pointing to a separate board. 

"Wait," Kyle interrupted. "You're sitting here and reading message board messages about yourself? Isn't that a little... I dunno... vain?!" 

"That's just what Linda says," Wally scoffed jokingly. "It probably would be, if not for the humor factor." Kyle merely looked at him with a confused look, prompting Wally to search through the Flash board and find one of the more... interesting threads. He opened it up and motioned for Kyle to read along...

~~~~~

****

Topic: Can the Flash outrace color? 

****

Started by: _The Taker_

Everything has a speed, right? So I'm thinking the Flash can outrace color. I caught this bit in an on-line discussion about quantum physics... 

~~~~~

"Uh," Kyle responded, his eyes continuing to scan down the discussion, "this... this doesn't make any sense..."

"Exactly," Wally laughed, obviously enjoying this whole thing. "First of all, the original poster makes this huge logic leap from Quantum existence theory to color having a _speed_, which just makes absolutely no sense. But to make matters worse, all of these other guys jump on board and start trying to debate the physics behind this ridiculous assertion. It's like they've all had a College Physics class or two and they think they're now experts in Physics and Quantum Theory. It's hysterical!!" 

"If you say so," Kyle prompted, suddenly questioning his friend's sense of humor. "Wait," he added, pointing at the screen, "that guy just said that your powers are one-dimensional..." 

"Actually, he said it _seems_ one-dimensional. Besides, there are a slew of those 'all he does is run fast' posts out there that get picked apart by everyone else," he explained, adding "Those are some great ones!" 

"Really?" Kyle answered, not expecting Wally's flippancy toward his so-called detractors. "There's folks here slamming you and it doesn't bother you?"

"Nah. It did at first, but most of 'em were just complete morons anyway, so... Plus, there are other topics that more than make up for a few small criticisms," Wally joked, backing out of that thread and scanning down the topics, looking for another one. Kyle noticed that Wally looked like a kid on Christmas morning, all giddy over finding something new and exciting. It was quite funny to watch. 

"Ah! Here we go. This one had me rolling..." 

"Uh, Walls? Does that say...?

"Yup!"

~~~~~

****

Topic: Flash should be a woman. 

Started by: _Ashton_

I mean it, seriously. All these SHs constantly changing anyway, I think there should be a new Flash and this time a female should play the part. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

Scribbler

Going on your theory, I did some searches and found this on some random artist's website: :P

~~~~~

Below the text was a cartoonish style drawing of a set of rather large-chested women dressed in reasonable facsimiles of the JLA's outfits, basically showing an "all female Justice League". Both Wally and Kyle stared at the picture for a moment, then started laughing. 

"Okay, now _that's_ funny!" said Kyle, unable to resist actually trying to imagine Superman, Arthur and even Batman as women. Wally just kept laughing, then started to scroll down the page more. 

"Just wait," he said between chuckles, "it gets better. The other folks start discussing the size of the female Flash's boobs and how much of a hindrance they are."

"You mean they actually debate about this crap?!?" Kyle gasped.

"Oh, yeah." Wally replied. 

By the end of the thread, both Wally and Kyle were in tears, laughing hysterically. 

"W-wait, wait..." Kyle sputtered between laughs. "Scroll back up to that picture..."

Wally did, sending both of them into hysterics again. After a few minutes, they had calmed down (and caught their breaths enough) and looked at the picture again. "Hey!" Kyle complained jokingly, "how come your boobs are bigger than mine?!"

Wally stuck out is lower lip in his best Marilyn Monroe pout. "It's called Genetics, big boy." 

Kyle slapped him playfully on the shoulder, laughing, then grabbed one of the other nearby chairs and pulled it over next to Wally, sitting down next to him. 

"You think these are good," Wally said, still chuckling, "you should see some of the ones on the Supes board. Those guys are friggin' _rabid_!"

"What about mine?" Kyle prompted, now getting more and more intrigued by the whole site. 

"Honestly, I dunno," Wally explained, "I haven't had a chance to check your board out yet..." Wally clicked back to the main JLA section, then selected the "Green Lantern" board. A sudden quiet and almost uncomfortable tension descended upon the pair as they glanced over the list of thread titles:

~~~~~

Hal Jordan Fan Club! pgs: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15  
This new guy SUX!!! pgs: 1 2 3   
Is the new GL Gay?!?  
Aren't we supposed to call him "Ion" now?  
Can any of You post an enlarged picture or drawing of what a power ring looks like?   
Someone told me there was once a Black GL?!  
Headline: New powers a blessing or a threat?  
In Memorium: Hal Jordan pgs: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9   
How fast would Hal kick this new GL's ass?  
Give the New GL a chance, people!!!  
Whatever happened to Guy Gardner?!  
GL: A new perspective  
Revive the GL Corps!   
Why is Hal considered the greatest GL of them all? pgs: 1 2 3 4   
What would YOU do with a power ring?   
Poor substitute: the new GL

....

~~~~~

"What the fu..." Wally replied, staring at the threads. "Man, I forget that most of the general population now knows that Hal used to be GL..." 

"Yeah," Kyle agreed weakly, having heard Hal referred to by name outside of the superhero community frequently, "it's pretty hard to hide that fact when in the middle of the remains that was once Coast City, there's now a 50-foot fucking statue of Green Lantern with the words 'In Memory of Hal Jordan' written on the base. I think it's pretty safe to assume that most of the world at large knows who he was at this point." The animosity and aggravation in Kyle's voice was evident. He'd finally gotten to a point in his career where he felt like he'd finally managed to make a name for himself -- an name outside of "Hal Jordon's replacement" -- but now he suddenly felt like he was back to square one.

They returned their attention to the screen. The list of posts went on for 6 whole pages, most of them either Pro-Hal or Anti-"New GL". There were a few Pro-NewGL threads, but upon inspection, most of them turned into nasty flame-wars brought on by the more militant of the Hal supporters. The pair sat, seemingly transfixed by the words on the screen for several minutes as Wally clicked through the list of threads and even through a thread or two. 

"Oh man, I'm sorry Kyle." Wally said sympathetically. "I had no idea..."

Kyle, for his part, just sat quietly seething. He reached up and nudged Wally's hand off of the mouse, taking control. He poked through a few more threads, his ire raising even more as the posters continued in their complete praise and dedication of Hal Jordan while mercilessly bashing the one they called the "New GL". Kyle had been Green Lantern for years and yet they still referred to him as "The New Guy".

"Whatthefuck," he mumbled, eyes locked on the screen. 

"What?" Wally said, honestly not understanding his friend's mumbling. 

"I said, What the FUCK!" Kyle shouted, the dam finally bursting. "What the hell is wrong with these people!! I'm Green Lantern!! I've helped save this planet more than a _few _times! I've saved New York City more times than I can count! I'm part of the JL-fuckin'-A! Hell, I've probably put my fucking life on the line for a few of these assholes more times than they'll ever know! And what does it get me?!?" 

Kyle leaned over, reading aloud directly from the screen: " '_...he sux! He couldn't hold Hal Jordan's jock-strap!'_ Jesus, what the fuck is their problem?!?"

Wally stood, grabbing Kyle by the shoulders and turning him away from the board. "Dude, calm down. I know it sucks what they're saying, but remember, it's just an Internet Message Board. Who gives a shit..."

"**I** give a shit, Wal! They're saying this shit about **ME**!"

"Kyle, relax," Wally said, trying to comfort his friend. "Look, it's just the Internet, okay? You know how the 'Net is: it's a haven for the pontificating chronically-uninformed! These guys don't know what the hell they're talking about..."

"I don't care! Who the fuck do these guys think they are?! **I'm the Green- Fuckin'- Lantern!!**

"Kyle! Language!" Diana scolded as she walked in the door of the meeting room. She saw Wally and Kyle standing by one of the terminals, Kyle looking quite upset. "What's wrong, Kyle?"

"What's Wrong?! There's... mrmph..." Kyle was cut short by Wally's hand, flinging up around Kyle's shoulder and clamping over his mouth. Kyle shouted a protest into Wally's hand as Wally turned a calm expression Diana's way. 

"There's a few people on this Internet Message Board saying some... derogatory things about Kyle." Wally explained, struggling to keep his hand in place over Kyle's squirming face. 

"An Internet Message Board? Kyle," Diana oozed with self-righteous condescension, "you mustn't get upset over a few peoples' opinions. After all, people have a right to say whatever they wish. Why, just by its very nature, the Internet is a tool where people from all over the world can freely express their ideas and opinions, regardless of nationality, race, color or creed. It is free form public debate in the truest sense of the word. Even heated, argumentative debate is useful in the sense that it allows differing points of view to be addressed and discussed openly and freely. And it is only through debate that human beings can truly understand one another and mature as a culture..."

Kyle tried to protest against Wally's hand, but only ended up sounding like a grunting chimp. He looked over at Wally, eyes burning in anger. Wally simply gave him a knowing wink, then turned back to Diana. "You know, Diana, you're absolutely right." An obvious but muffled "What?!?" came out of Kyle as he stared incredulously at Wally. 

"The internet _is_ debate in its truest form," Wally continued, releasing the astonished Kyle and silencing him with a devilish grin. Kyle simply stared in confusion as Wally returned to his seat, swinging around to face the screen again. "Let's see what heated, intellectual debates they're having on the Wonder Woman board right now." He began clicking though the links to arrive at the board in question.

Diana strolled over in their direction, brimming with self-righteous pride as she passed by Kyle. She'd show him how mature adults handled people with differing opinions. Wally clicked the first topic and brought the thread up on the screen:

****

~~~~~

Topic: If you could change only ONE thing about that costume...   
**Started by:** _LizaFan_

  
Forgive me if we have covered this topic before...but, I'm curious. If you could change only ONE thing about Wonder Woman's traditional costume what would it be?  
Me, I think the earings have to go. Trust me, they are not a good thing to wear into battle.   
-if they are pierced earings she could lose an earlobe (vulnerable to bullets, figures she would be vulnerable to a tear in soft tissue)  
- if they are clip-on earings she'd be going through 1000+ pairs a year (price prohibitive).

~~~~~

Diana looked at Wally and scoffed. "Very funny, Wally. Now bring up a real one..."

"That _is_ a 'real one', Diana," Wally replied, hiding the laughter in his own voice. "It was the first one on the list. Here, let's try the next one..."

~~~~~

****

Topic: Why are WW's (+)(+) always so big?  
**Started By:** _Athenaline_

in all of the newspaper drawings and sketches drawn of her, why do all of the pictures include her with reall large... um... attributes?!? it's insulting not just to her but to all women!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

RedSpeedy

  
Um, have you ever SEEN WW? Her b(+)(+)bs ARE that big! Yowza!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

Athenaline

that may be hornyboy but they always seem to over-emphasize them!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

WondyMan

  
Well then, go bitch to her about her costume!! She's the one running around in that corset that shoves 'em up to her chin. Besides, what kind of message is she _really_ sending out there. Sure she talks a big game about women's independance and women's freedoms from male oppression, but then she runs around wearing an outfit that exposes 85% of her body?!? Now why is that?!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

AgeOfAmazons

  
its ceremonial. :P

~~~~~

"Wally!" Diana chided loudly. "Stop playing around!"

"I'm not!" Wally replied as Kyle came over to look over Wally's other shoulder to read. "I tell you what," Wally continued, "We'll go back to the main page and _you_ can pick a topic..." He clicked out to the primary Wonder Woman board and displayed the list of topics. 

The trio read through the list of topics, Diana searching for one that looked even remotely like a pertinent discussion within the list of topics such as: "Wonder Women's costume sensibility", "My Favorite Amazon!!!" and "WW merchandise resources". 

"There!" She pointed to one and Wally brought it up. 

~~~~~

****

Topic: Which would Wonder Woman prefer?   
**Started By:** _ArtemisGuy_

Do you think she prefers smooth or hairy chested men? 

~~~~~

Diana stared in shock. Wally immediately backed out and brought the topic list up again. "T-there..." Diana pointed to another one.

~~~~~

****

Topic: If you were her...  
Started By: 0o_MellyMel_o0

... who would you pick to have an affair with: Superman, Batman, Flash, Green Lantern or *snicker* Aquaman?

~~~~~

Wally backed out, trying desperately to contain his laughter. Kyle turned to greet J'onn and Arthur who had just entered the meeting room, then went over to explain to them what was going on. Plaz followed soon after, slowly loping into the room. Diana and Wally continued to search through the board. "Okay, let's try a different approach. Here's one with a lot of replies. Let's try that..."

He hesitated for a second upon reading the title of the topic, because he knew it might be a sore subject for Diana, but figured it had the most potential for the "honest debate" Diana was looking for...

~~~~~

****

Topic: Sexuality of the Amazons   
**Started By:**_Nefertiti_  
This is a serious question, I'm not trying to be salacious or start something.  
I just read an interesting article that said that the sexuality of Wonder Woman and the rest of the Amazons is Lesbianism. Is this true?

~~~~~

  
Wally was barely able to contain himself anymore. He scrolled down the page, well aware of Diana's penetrating eyes staring over his shoulder. A small chuckle escaped his lips when he read one poster's suggestion that Amazons surely had "sapphic tendencies". He sputtered a laugh, then coughed to try and cover it up when another asserted that ancient Amazons would kidnap unwitting males, force them to have sex, then return them to their homelands in "deep awe and terror". The final straw was the poster that purported to know that it was common knowledge that "Diana herself [was] a hetreosexual virgin". He slapped his hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing outright. He turned to Diana, then sputtered into his hand when he looked at her open-mouthed, aghast expression. He stumbled up out of the chair, managed a quick "It's all yours..." to Diana before heading over to the conference table to join the others. 

Superman entered, looking more than a little perturbed, and stormed over to his chair. The other Leaguers glanced at one another, silently confirming what they had all expected: the meeting with Luthor had not gone well. 

"Let's get this started, folks. Diana, would you care to join us please." Superman sat in his chair, the others quickly following suit, except Diana, who was still gasping at the terminal screen. "Diana," Clark called again to no response. "DIANA!" 

She finally pulled her eyes away, noticing the others now sitting at the conference table. She stood and headed over toward the conference table to join the meeting. "Sorry, Kal."

Superman bristled lightly at Diana's continual use of his Kryptonian name, but took a deep breath and started the meeting. Many of the discussions were short. The decisions were all made quickly and without pomp or circumstance. No one appeared to be in the mood to debate or discuss at great length any of the topics that were brought forth. Superman was preoccupied, mostly about his abysmal meeting with Luthor. Kyle was still fuming over what was posted on the SHMB, the brief respite of Diana's reaction to her board doing little to permanently ease his ire. For her part, Diana sat quietly, mostly from shock. Arthur stewed quietly over having to rearrange his schedule to accommodate the change in meeting time and frequently glanced over to Batman's empty chair and scoffed. J'onn quickly acquired a headache from the mass of angered psyches repeatedly banging against his telepathic senses. Plaz sat uncharacteristically quiet, seemingly disinterested in the meeting itself and more interested in the pretty lights flashing on the large view-screen on the wall behind Superman's head. 

It was one of the best meetings Wally had ever attended. 

*****

****

Saturday

I don't have time for this. 

Luthor, not as "Lex Luthor, Businessman" or even as "Lex Luthor, Superman Adversary", but as President of the United States informed me that part of the Nuclear Disarmament Treaty he signed last week with members of the former Soviet Bloc countries and the European Union included a requirement on behalf of each signing member country for public displays of disarmament of nuclear warheads as proof of their consent to the agreement. Luthor decided that the U.S.'s displays should be carried out by a "Symbol of World Peace, Justice and National Pride."; namely, me. He knows full well that, regardless of my animosity toward him, I still respect the office which he currently holds and will honor any request set forth by that office, despite the fact that it's him making the request. As long as what I'm asked to do isn't illegal, unethical or morally wrong and as long as it ultimately benefits the American people, I will carry out any request set forth by the President. "What's more beneficial to the American People than nuclear disarmament?" he said. 

Trust me, I'm all for it. I'll gladly do this little task for him if it means a few more missiles out of silos. But truthfully, this has nothing to do with National Pride or a show of support for the Treaty. If it were, Luthor would have requested that I destroy all 15,000 of the remaining active nuclear warheads in the country instead of the dozen he's pointed me to. This is a public show, all right, but what he's really doing is showing the rest of the world that he has Superman under his control and he's not afraid to use me. So, I don't like it but I'll do it.****I'll smile and pose for the cameras while I hold up the missiles then hurl them into the sun for all to watch. But rest assured, I will be tossing a few more than the dozen he requested. Purely by "accident", of course. Just as Luthor knows that I won't publicly go against the wishes of the sitting President, he knows that if he publicly bashes me for destroying a few more than the prerequisite twelve, he'll be labeled a "Pro-Nuke War Monger" by the time I get back to Metropolis. 

So I figured I might as well go ahead and get it done. The sooner I can get it over with and put it behind me the better. Then, on my way out of town, I start picking up a supersonic signal ringing in my ear. 

"DP. Now"

"DP" is the Daily Planet and considering the signal, it has to be Bruce. 

I don't have time for this. 

*****

Diana sat in the Monitor Womb for her Saturday night stint on Duty. On the console in front of her, the Wonder Woman Message Board displayed a long list of topics, most of them akin to the ones she had seen the previous day before the meeting. Her initial shock had eventually worn off, changing into disgust and even anger. Then, she realized, it wasn't their fault, exactly. They were all just obviously misinformed. A fact she intended to remedy. 

She selected the "New to the Board?" icon at the bottom of the screen and was taken to the registration page to create a new "account". She filled out the simple form and selected "submit". The page flashed back an error:

**__**

We're sorry, the Username you requested has been taken. Please click "Back" and select another one.

"Taken?" She scoffed, staring at the error. "How can 'WonderWoman' be taken?!" She clicked back to the form and tried again. Same error. She went back to the original form. "That's fine. We'll try something else."

She entered "Diana" and tried again.

**__**

We're sorry, the Username you requested has been taken. Please click "Back" and select another one.

Okay, fair enough. Not all _that_ uncommon a name. 

She tried "DianaPrincessOfThemyscira". Taken. 

"DianaWW" - taken. 

"AmazonAmbassador" - taken

"WondWoman" - taken.

"ThemysciranGoddess" - taken...

*****

I land on the roof of the Daily Planet, wondering what Bruce's emergency is... The Messenger. He's found out. A quick mental scan of the calendar and I realize what I'm in for. Hell Month. A minus 4. He lets me have it both barrels, telling me that I'd expect him to tell me if one of Luthor's "flunkies" was operating out of Gotham. 

No -- I'd say if an agent of Luthor's set up shop in Gotham, you'd pound him into a 1 X 1 cube and send him to me 2nd day Ground!

Um... did I say that out loud?

Great, now he's coming at me from all sides. Somehow, in his Hell Month, A-minus-4 mind, this is all _my_ fault. Doesn't he know that if anything happened I would tell him...

Something _has_ happened?!? What?! What's going on...

And now The Glare. Look, Bruce glare all you want to, if you don't tell me what's going on...

Lois says I'm crazy. She says she doesn't understand how someone like me, with the strength and power to pull the moon out of its orbit, can be scared of someone like Bruce, a normal human being. I tell her that Bruce is far from normal. And I'm not _scared_ of him, it just that sometimes it's best to just give him what he wants so he'll stop making your life miserable...

Besides, _she's_ never been on the receiving end of that glare. 

Yeah, that one. You know, I've got problems of my own right now and your glare is only making things worse. If you want something, ask it. 

I am not answering to a glare! 

I am not going to cave!

I'm not!

*****

"You caved?!?" 

"I didn't _cave_, Arthur!" Clark replied, staring across J'onn's living room at the Atlantian sitting in J'onn's overstuffed chair. Various snickers rose about the room as the others -- J'onn, Wally, Kyle, Eel and John Henry -- watched the discussion between the two men. "I had information relevant to a case he was working on and I supplied that information to him upon his request." Clark continued to explain. 

"No," Arthur retorted calmly, trying to keep from snickering himself. "You had 'information' that was vague at best -- information that you very well could not have had in the first place -- and you spilled your guts to him because he stood there with his stupid little glare and forced it out of you." Arthur took a sip of his beer, then smirked at Clark. "Now, you can call that whatever you want to, but _I_ call it 'caving'."

Clark looked around to the others for support, realizing that they were all pleading with him to keep them out of it. He sighed, sipping his milk and shook his head slowly. "I didn't..." he paused, realizing the futility of his argument. "I caved," he finally agreed with a chuckle, raising his glass in toast to the room. "Viva La HellMonth." 

"Viva La HellMonth" the others replied, all raising their glasses in toast, then taking sips of their drinks. J'onn stood, heading toward the kitchen to grab a few refills for those that had drained their glasses. On his way, he paused next to Clark and rested a hand on his shoulder. The two men looked at each other, both smiling, then confirmed in unison "A-minus-4." 

As J'onn continued on to the kitchen, Kyle turned a questioning look toward Clark. "A minus 4?" he asked, trading confused glances with Wally and Eel. 

"Never mind, long story," Clark replied, taking another sip of his drink. Arthur snorted another chuckle and put his drink down on the table beside his chair. Kyle turned his attention to the Atlantian, as if he just remembered that Arthur had been sitting there. 

"In all fairness, Artie, dealing with Batty during Hell Month is always a pain in the ass." Kyle said, not even realizing what he had just called the King of Atlantis thanks to the 5 cans of "liquid courage" he'd already consumed. "I'd love to see how quickly _you'd_ cave under that stare..."

J'onn came back from the kitchen, wordlessly handing fresh drinks to Wally and Eel, his eyes never leaving Arthur. He knew this wouldn't be pretty.

"Actually, _Kylie_," Arthur responded, adopting a face of mock seriousness, "let me see if I can put this into perspective for you. You know that right now, Atlantis is in the middle of the Winter Migration, right? Okay, so part of that migration includes several pods -- or 'schools' if you prefer -- of Sperm Whales. They don't come to the middle of the Atlantic for food or warmer climates, they come to mate. Now, female Sperm Whales have an estrous cycle of about 20-30 days that comes just once a year. So, at best, they have a 30-day window in which to locate a potential mate somewhere in thousands of miles of open ocean, and considering that the current female to male ratio for Sperm Whales is approximately 4 to 1, that's no easy feat in and of itself. Then, they have to entice such a mate, copulate and successfully conceive, all within that 30 day window. So consider it this way: while you guys are up here dealing with **one man** out of _billions_ of surface dwellers with a month-long mad-on conniption fit, I'm dealing with a month full of _hundreds_ of desperate, whiny, bitchy, _horny_, 30-ton female Sperm Whales all looking for the same thing. Trust me, ol' Dark and Broody's got _nothing_ on an unsatisfied, horny female sperm whale on Day 28 of her cycle. So I'll make you a deal: I'll stay up here and deal with Bats and all of his Hell Month... _eccentricities_, and you can go deal with 30 tons of hormonal, pissed-off Whale-Bitch."

Arthur sat back in his chair, grabbing his drink off the table and taking a sip -- and using the glass to try and hide the smirk on his face. Kyle, Wally, Eel and John Henry all stared aghast at Arthur's tirade. He tried desperately not to laugh at what looked like a small school of large-mouthed bass staring in his direction. J'onn and Clark both sipped from their drinks, also trying to hide their smiles. 

Wally was the first to be able to forms words into a coherent statement: "D-dude... that's fucked up..." 

Arthur, J'onn and Clark exchanged glances, then broke out laughing. Eventually, they all started laughing. January Third Saturdays were generally like this: No poker, no games, no real set plans, just a chance for everyone to get back together and talk -- about their respective holidays, about the League, about life in general, about... anything. J'onn noticed with no small sense of pleasure that the revelation of identities seemed to have had a positive effect on Third Saturdays. Everyone was in "normal" clothes: no costumes, no masks, just a group of guys having a good time. 

An hour or so into the activities, Clark, J'onn and Arthur all paused pointedly and began looking around the apartment, almost frantically. The others caught their sudden nervousness and quieted down, shrugging at each other and looking to the three. "What? What is it?" Kyle asked.

J'onn shushed him almost nastily, then looked to Clark and Arthur for confirmation. The looks they sent his way confirmed his suspicions: someone else was here. All three men who had the benefit of better-than-average hearing had heard a noise, somewhere back toward J'onn's bedroom. Picking up on their teammates' non-verbal clues, all of the men in the room turned to look down the small hallway back towards J'onn's room. 

A small throat-clearing cough from behind them shook every member in the room. They all spun about, instinctively crouching into ready positions, then stopped suddenly, frozen in their places. They stared in complete shock at the man leaning against the window sill, arms crossed over his chest. He was a man that many of them had known and _all_ of them knew was supposed to be _dead_!

Oliver Queen, a.k.a. the Original Green Arrow. He was dressed in full GA attire, complete with the crooked hat that matched the slant of his crooked grin. "So," Ollie prompted, with his customary charm, "is this a Private Party, or can anyone crash?"

*****

****

Sunday

The Super Hero Message Boards  
--JLA Discussion Area  
----Wonder Woman Forum

Topic: A message from Diana, Princess of Themyscira

Started by: _TheREALWonderWomanDiana_

Dear Internet Friends,

The Internet, in its truest and finest form, is a medium for peoples of all nations, all races, all sexes, all ages, all creeds and all backgrounds to come together and openly discuss any and all matters that they deem worthy. To this extent, I have always championed its cause and its benefits. I have only recently become aware that this site existed and as such, I was unaware that there was a place available for these peoples to come together to discuss not only myself, but my views, my opinions and my causes. When I heard that such a place did exist, I was overwhelmed and delighted at the thought of such an open forum existing in a world where free expression, free debate and free speech are often suppressed. However, upon visiting this site, I was no longer delighted. I was, in fact, appalled! 

If I may be allowed to be frank here, I will say that I had expected that any Internet Web Site devoted to my cause would be filled with discussions of some of the most important issues facing all people today. The abhorrent treatment of women in some third-world countries, the repeated objectification and humiliation of women the world over in this male-dominated society, the lack of any substantial peace throughout the world -- these are the kinds of debates and ideas I expected to see. Instead, this board is filled with nothing but salacious discussions about my appearance, my dress and my personal -- and even sexual! -- preferences. This kind of discussion is uncalled for, unwarranted and quite frankly, insulting to me and to ALL women around the world! 

My friends, I put forth the notion that your time here on this earth is short and so precious that to spend that time with such trivial discussions while this planet screams for justice and equality is truly a waste of that precious time. Do not while away your life by engaging in such insipid and inane banter, but rather express those opinions that matter most in this world. Do all that you can while you can to be a positive force of truth, justice and equality in an otherwise untrue, unjust and unequal world. Fight the oppression of ALL humankind, not just with your words, but with your actions and with your deeds. Go forth into the world and help me -- help me to spread the message of true peace and equality throughout the world. Only together can we enact any REAL change on this Earth and on the people who populate it. 

Thank you all for your interest and your time. 

Sincerely,

Wonder Woman

Diana, Princess of Themyscira

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

RedSpeedy

ROFLMAO!!!!

dOOd! tht was sum funny $#1T!!! ROFL!!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

caprice

actally, RS, I dont think it was funny at ALL!! WW doesnt reall talk like that!! Its mean and nasty!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

RedSpeedy

Oh BS, caprice. Did u hear her speach at the un a few months ago?!? She sounds JUST like that!!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

ArtemisGuy

I agree! That was uncalled for! I hope the mod deletes this. its just rude!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

Nefertiti

Diana!!! OMG!!! Thank you so much for your kind words!! WE LOVE YOU!!! Does this mean you'll actually be posting here regularly??! :D :D :D :D 

I have SOOOOO many questions to ask you, but I'll start with this one:

Is Superman really as hot up close as he looks on TV?!?!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

PhillyCat

Geez, nef. R U really that stupid or do you just play it on TV?! ;) :P

Dere's no way this is actually the REAL WW. Dont let da name fool u. 

And I don think this offensive at all! Its jus funny!! LOL!!

_____________________________________________________________________________

__

WWMB-MOD

****

**This thread has been closed by the moderator of the board due to inappropriate material. Please refrain from impersonating other people while posting on this board. Thank you. **

_____________________________________________________________________________

****

FIN

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Many thanks to Brii-anna, Ken, Rob and Chris for their input and support. A very special thanks to the (unwitting) assistants over at the DCMB, without whose (unknowing) help, this chap would not have been possible. I mean it. I couldn't _make_ this crap up... 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Stay Tuned for the Next Installment:  
**JLAin't: A Year in the Life. **

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


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